Rich Toward God, Together

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 3, 2025

Year C, Proper 13: The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Colossians 3:1-11

Luke 12:13-21

Rich Toward God, Together

Well, it’s almost two weeks later, and I’m still buzzing about the “Introduction to Community Organizing” meeting that we had in our Parish Hall.

I was really pleased by the strong turnout – a great showing by St. Thomas’ parishioners and also some others from a couple of other local churches, and also Owings Mills Elementary School and Owings Mills High School.

I was impressed by the quality of the conversation, how much skill was gathered in our Parish Hall, but not only skill – a deep desire to do good, to find new ways of being even more effective in dealing with the many challenges we face – to find new ways to help people right here in our own community – maybe through this process called “Community organizing.” 

I first learned about community organizing about 18 years ago.

Back then, the Bishop of Newark required all of us newly ordained clergy to attend a week-long community organizing training session.

There we learned some of the same principles that we talked about at our intro session the other day. We especially learned about power – what it is and how we can harness it, use it, to do good.

We learned about tension – something that most of us instinctually avoid, but it can be useful in holding leaders accountable and moving things forward.

We learned about and practiced one-on-one relational meetings, how to really talk and listen with someone, how to discern common interests and ways we might work together.

A very helpful skill that I use all the time.

But what I remember most from that training was a comment made by the facilitator, who told us that he didn’t like the word “empowerment.”

You hear that word a lot – “empowerment” – and it’s usually meant positively, you know, giving people a boost, giving them the tools they need to succeed – “empowerment.”

But the facilitator said “empowerment” is condescending, it sounds like we’re somehow giving power to people.

While, in fact, people have plenty of power – they just need to realize it and work together to use their power to make change.

I saw this at my church in Jersey City, where much of our community organizing work was around decent and affordable housing.

Early on, we had an action in our parish hall about the disgusting conditions in some apartment buildings owned by slumlords – some of our parishioners lived in those buildings.

And one of those parishioners stood up in the parish hall packed with people, including many elected officials. Behind her, on easels, were enlarged photos of her apartment: holes in the ceiling, broken cabinets – just a mess. 

And in front of all those people, she bravely told her story.

And, as she spoke, you could almost see the lightbulb switching on above her head as she realized that she had power – that together we had power.

The action continued with us walking over to one of those apartment buildings so the politicians could go in and see the conditions for themselves.

And, sure enough, on the next business day, the housing inspectors were dispatched throughout the city and hundreds of citations were issued.

The slumlords didn’t know what hit them!

Although not specifically religious, I’m convinced that community organizing is holy work.

It’s holy to build relationships with our neighbors, to use our gifts to strengthen and improve our community, to help people realize that they have God-given power.

To use Jesus’ words in today’s gospel lesson, community organizing is being “rich toward God.”

Rich toward God, together.

        In last week’s sermon, I talked a little about your extraordinary generosity, the overflowing generosity that I see here just about every day.

        To make my point, I used the classic New Jersey example of a ride to Newark Airport. It’s kind of a big ask back home but it’s a way bigger ask here, yet I know that, in a pinch, I could ask some of you for a ride up there and that you’d do it.

        And sure enough, after each service last Sunday, some of you said, yep, if you asked me, I’d be there for you.

        (One parishioner came up to me and said, nope, she wouldn’t drive me to the airport. But she would hire a car service for me. That’s pretty good, too!)

        Quite a contrast with the man in today’s gospel lesson.

        This rich man has done very well for himself, so well that he’s run out of room to store his crops.

        Rather than sharing what he has – the thought never seems to occur to him – he starts a building project, constructing new, larger barns to hold his abundance.

        And then he thinks, he’s all set for many years to come, many years of relaxing, eating, and making merry.

        Ahh…

        But none of that wealth will be any use to him on the day of his death.

        Jesus’ lesson is pretty straightforward, and certainly one that we – who by the world’s standards are very well off – need to hear, again and again.

        Life is not about how much stuff we have.

        And we all leave this world emptyhanded. 

        But as I reflect on this man – this man who was so selfish, and so shortsighted – I’m struck by how alone he is.

        The question, “the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” is poignant. Maybe there is no one.

        There’s no mention of family or friends or neighbors. He might have shared his abundance with them. Jesus’ stories often include a big party, but not this time.

        Maybe the man was planning to “eat, drink, and be merry” all by himself.

        There’s also no mention of the workers who must have planted and harvested the crops – the workers who built the big new barns - the workers whose skill and muscle helped produce all this wealth – no mention of sharing anything with them.

        There’s no mention of the poor, who were probably right outside his door.

        The rich man doesn’t even pray – he offers no words of thanksgiving for his many blessings.

        This rich man is all alone, so alone that the only person he talks to is himself, his own soul.

        A bad place to be.

        You know, isolation and selfishness are kind of like the chicken and the egg.

        I’m not sure which comes first.

        I am sure, however, that one big reason why you are so generous – even generous enough to give me a ride to Newark Airport – is that we are together.

        Being part of church, being part of this church, encourages us, inspires us, challenges us, to be generous – to share our abundant gifts with the church itself – to share our abundant gifts with refugees and school children and hungry people.

        Being part of a church, being part of this church, encourages us to explore new ways of being generous, invites us to sacrifice a summer afternoon to learn about community organizing.

        And, also, when we’re part of a church, we are regularly reminded of ultimate things.

        Even if our barns are full, someday our life will end and we will be asked to account for how we used our gifts, how we shared our abundance.

        God has given us so much – so much wealth, so much skill, so much power.

        So much love.

        With God’s help, may we continue to use our gifts in service to others.

        May we be rich toward God, together.

        Amen.

Deeply Rooted

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 27, 2025

Year C, Proper 12: The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Hosea 1:2-10

Psalm 85

Colossians 2:6-15

Luke 11:1-13

Deeply Rooted

Well, that was quite the Old Testament lesson, wasn’t it?

It’s not every Sunday that you hear words like that in church!

Obviously, a lesson like today’s reading from the Book of the Prophet Hosea requires some explanation, some background.

According to the Bible, King David and his son King Solomon ruled a unified kingdom.

But, after Solomon’s death, the people in the northern part of the kingdom rebelled against harsh leadership and heavy taxation, and they created a new kingdom, called Israel, while the southern kingdom, centered around Jerusalem, was called Judah.

As you might expect, there was ongoing hostility between the two kingdoms, and differences developed, especially around worship.

The Book of the Prophet Hosea is set during the 8th century BCE, when the northern kingdom of Israel was defeated by the Assyrians. Many thousands of Israelites were deported and other peoples were brought into Israel.

By the way, the descendants of the people of the northern kingdom will be later known as the Samaritans – related to the Jews but with differing religious ideas and customs, and, as we talked about a couple of weeks ago, with ongoing hostility between them.

Anyway, the Prophet Hosea declares that it was the unfaithfulness of the people of Israel – their worshiping of other gods – that led to this disaster of invasion, defeat, and dispersal.

And, whatever the historical truth of his own marriage, Hosea uses the image of marrying a promiscuous woman to represent faithful God’s relationship with unfaithful Israel.

And although the Book of Hosea is mostly about the northern kingdom, it is also a pointed warning to the people of Judah, to the southern kingdom, to remain rooted in God, to not lose their way, or disaster will befall them, too.

You don’t have to know a lot about the Bible, or history - and you don’t really even have to be an especially insightful or attentive person - to know that it is very easy for us to lose our way.

It’s all too easy for us to get uprooted from who and what is most important.

It’s all too easy for us to get uprooted - to uproot ourselves - from who we are meant to be, who we really are.

Sometimes this uprooting is caused by sin, by deliberately turning away from God’s way, by rejecting God’s love.

But sometimes this uprooting is caused by just mindlessly bouncing along from one event, one challenge, one opportunity, one news cycle, to the next.

And then, maybe without even realizing it, we’ve lost the thread of our own lives, we’ve gotten uprooted.

This uprooting can happen to any of us, very much including clergy.

One of Bishop Carrie’s expectations for us clergy is that we all have a spiritual director.

A spiritual director might be better called a spiritual guide or spiritual companion.

A spiritual director is someone specially trained to have conversations about faith, about spirituality, about looking for God at work in and through our lives.

Having a spiritual director is a very good thing but I confess that it’s something I’ve often “not gotten around to,” maybe because self-care isn’t always my strong suit, maybe because I’ve arrogantly thought I didn’t really need one, or maybe because I thought I was just too busy – there’s always so much to do.

All of the above, probably.

Well, I now have a spiritual director – she’s a Roman Catholic nun and I’m so glad that I found her. She is very wise, down-to-earth, and funny.

At one of our recent sessions, we were talking about, ahem, my age and my career path, how it feels like I’ve been on the move for so long, rolling along from one thing to the next.

And she suggested that maybe I’m entering a transition time, beginning to shift from a time of doing to a time of being.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot – transitioning from a time of doing to a time of being.

Now, I’m not ready to call it quits and spend my days sitting under a tree pondering the mystery of it all – not yet anyway.

But I’ve heard my spiritual director’s observation as a call, as a call to a healthier balance between doing and being – a call, like Rev. Amelia reminded us last week, to become and stay rooted in prayer – prayer, which makes all the “doing” possible.

Of course, today’s gospel lesson is all about prayer.

At the start, we get a glimpse of Jesus praying, a reminder that Jesus is a man of prayer, sometimes praying with others and sometimes going off by himself, to get away from the crowds and even his own disciples, for some alone time with the Father.

This time, after Jesus finished praying, we’re told that one of the disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.”

When it comes to prayer, we don’t know how or what John the Baptist taught, but Jesus teaches a very simple prayer, a very Jewish prayer, one that doesn’t require any special training or skill, a prayer for everyone, a prayer that is so deeply engraved on our hearts that often it is remembered even when almost everything else is forgotten.

A prayer that proclaims that God is holy and that we long for God’s kingdom.

A prayer that reminds us that we depend on God for everything, every day.

A prayer that acknowledges that we lose our way and that we are meant to forgive others when they lose their way.

A prayer that recognizes that life is hard, but God is holding us in our worst moments, with us always.

A simple, beautiful prayer meant for everyone, no special training or skill necessary.

And then Jesus talks about God’s love and generosity.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve met a few new people – community organizing is very helpful for that – and as we’ve gotten to know each other, I’ve told them some of my story and especially my experience here at St. Thomas’.

And whenever I talk about this place, I always highlight your generosity – the abundant giving that I mention in sermons all the time, caring for the Afghans and the children at Owings Mills Elementary School, the countless hours so many of you give to lots of other ministries – the cemetery, Sunday School, Confirmation class, Sacred Ground, and on and on.

To put your incredible generosity in New Jersey terms, there are more than a few of you I know that, in a pinch, I could ask you for a ride to Newark Airport!

But, as loving and generous as you are, God is even more loving and generous.

God is the Source of love and generosity.

I know that we all know this, but we forget, I forget.

For all sorts of reasons, some good and not good, I get uprooted, we get uprooted.

And sometimes, maybe we even place our ultimate trust in other would-be gods – our own abilities, our money, certain leaders.

As Hosea warned long ago, that is a recipe for disaster.

Finally, in today’s epistle lesson, the author of the Letter to the Colossians writes, “As you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

So, praying together, we will not lose our way.

With God’s help, we will remain deeply rooted.

Amen.

 

God's Love is Personal

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 13, 2025

Year C, Proper 10: The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Amos 7:7-17

Psalm 82

Colossians 1:1-14

Luke 10:25-37

God’s Love is Personal

I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn that I spend a lot of time thinking about how best to lead our church during this tumultuous time in our country’s history.

The wardens and I talk about it pretty regularly.

How do we hold together our beautiful community, diverse but united, when the forces of division are pushing and pulling all around us?

In a time such as this, how do we remain faithful to our baptismal promises to seek and serve Christ in all people, respecting the dignity of every person, loving our neighbor as our self?

In my sermons over the last few months, I’ve tried to sort of nod toward what’s going on around us, acknowledging it, while not taking it on directly – both because preaching is not a current events class and because it is my great hope that we will all stick together, no matter what.

But today, I would like to speak a little more directly about one of the most divisive and complex issues of our time: immigration. 

If you watch the news or read the paper, you may have seen a particular kind of immigration story – it keeps getting repeated, over and over.

Some people who have been certain that all immigrants without the proper paperwork should be deported, have gotten upset when that happens to a person – a particular person - in their own community, in their own lives.

You know, the guy who works at the bagel shop on Main Street.

The waitress at the diner, who’s been here for years and is loved by everyone in town.

The father of the high school valedictorian.

Just the other day, I read a story in the paper that was an extreme version of this phenomenon. It was about Chris Allred, a 48-year-old man who works as a recruiter at a trucking company in Arkansas. For all the familiar economic reasons, he was – and still is – in favor of deporting undocumented people.

Well, it turns out that Mr. Allred had never married. But after his dying grandmother shared her prayer that, at last, he would find a wife, he tried dating apps and, guess what, he found someone he liked, a woman named Geleny – and to make a not very long story short – they fell in love and got married.

Chris Allred believes Geleny is the answer to his grandmother’s prayer.

There’s only one problem: she is an undocumented immigrant from Ecuador.

After trying their best to navigate our maddeningly complicated immigration system, it became clear that Geleny would have to return to Ecuador.

And because he loves her, Chris Allred has chosen to go with her to Ecuador, a place he’s never been, where the people speak a language he does not understand.

It’s a touching and fascinating story in large part because this man from Arkansas recognizes both the complexity of the immigration issue, and also the deep contradictions in his own heart and mind.

In the article he describes himself as a “walking contradiction.”

But here’s the thing: in the end, it was his encounter with a person – with this particular person – that led him to take the biggest chance, the biggest leap, of his life.

You know, stories like these shouldn’t surprise us.

We’re really not so good with abstractions, which is why Jesus so often taught by telling stories – parables – about particular people, characters who come alive each time we repeat the stories.

And these parables about particular people are meant to startle us, to shake up our preconceptions, to make us uncomfortable, to help us see life in new and different ways.

Today, of course, we heard one of Jesus’ very best-known parables, what’s usually called the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

Luke frames the parable with an exchange between Jesus and a lawyer, a lawyer who wants to know what he must “do to inherit eternal life.”

Jesus knows that the lawyer knows the correct Jewish answer to that question: love God with everything you’ve got and love your neighbor as yourself.

But then the lawyer asks a more provocative question, “And who is my neighbor?”

As Amy-Jill Levine writes in our summer reading book, really the lawyer is asking, “Who is not my neighbor?”

And rather than give a general answer, Jesus tells a story – a story about some particular people.

The road between Jerusalem and Jericho was known to be dangerous, so the first hearers of this parable wouldn’t have been surprised to hear what happened to the poor man, assaulted and left half-dead by robbers on the side of the road.

But they would have been shocked by the behavior of the priest and then the Levite, both religious men, who both crossed to the other side of the road to avoid dealing with the man in distress.

The first hearers of this parable would have expected that these religiously knowledgeable men would have helped. After all, that was and is God’s Law. Helping someone in need is more important any other obligation.

But perhaps the priest and Levite were afraid that what had happened to the man would happen to them – I mean, the robbers could still be nearby, looking for more easy targets. Or maybe these religious men thought they were just too busy to help. Or maybe they just didn’t want to get involved in someone’s else’s mess.

I’m sure most, maybe all, of us can relate.

So, the first hearers of this parable would have been surprised and disappointed by the behavior of the priest and the Levite.

But that surprise was nothing compared to what comes next.

To begin to appreciate the shock of this parable we must remember that, although related to each other, Jews and Samaritans in the first century did not get along at all.

It might have been difficult for a Jew to imagine that a Samaritan could even be good.

And vice versa. 

Now when this particular Samaritan sees the beaten man by the side of the road, he could have acted like the priest and Levite and crossed over to the other side. 

        He could have grumbled and tsked, saying something like, “They really need to beef up security on this road.” Or he might have blamed the victim, thinking that this man should have been more careful. Or he might have hoped and prayed that “someone” would come along and help this man before it’s too late

But no.

This particular Samaritan shatters all expectations, going above and beyond, offering healing by pouring oil and wine on the man’s wounds, bringing this man - who was likely Jewish – bringing this man to an inn, paying two days wages to an innkeeper so the man had time to recover, and promising to return and pay whatever he might owe.

This Samaritan saw the half-dead man not as a problem or a danger but as a person, a neighbor, in need of mercy.

        God’s love is personal.

        So, God came among us not as an abstraction but in and through a person, Jesus of Nazareth.

        And God continues to dwell among us, not as a theory or as a set of rules, but in and among all of us, each and every person.

        So, here’s what I think about how we go forward together as a church during these tumultuous times.

        First, as I said last week, we pray.

        We are always, but especially now, called to be people of prayer, remembering that God lives in our own hearts, that God gives us strength to face the future, and that God uses us to bring healing to others.

        So, first we pray.

        And second, we stay focused on persons.

        We must not live in a world of abstractions, a world of labels, ideologies, talking points, and judgments.

        No, we are called to love and serve people, right here and now.

        That’s why I keep talking about our Afghan friends and the kids at Owls First over at Owings Mills Elementary. 

        They are not abstractions.

        They’re not “the immigration system.”

        They’re not “the school district” or even “kids today.”

        No, they are people, loved personally by God.

        And so, whatever we might think about the issues of the day, we must not look away, we must not walk away.

        No, we must see our neighbors, walk beside them, offering what we have, offering even more than might seem necessary or prudent.

        We are called to love, and show mercy to, our neighbors.

        God’s love is personal.

        And so, our love must be personal, too.

        Amen.

Being Peace, Giving Peace

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 6, 2025

Year C. Proper 9: The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

2 Kings 5:1-14

Psalm 30

Galatians 6:1-16

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Being Peace, Giving Peace

I’ve mentioned to you before that one of the highlights of my week is our service on Wednesdays at noon.

Each week, our faithful group gathers for Communion and Anointing, and then some of us stick around to read and discuss the gospel lesson that’s coming up on Sunday.

Very often we celebrate what are called the “lesser feasts,” the days throughout the year when the Church remembers different saints, the holy women and men who have modeled for us what it looks like to be a Christian.

Sometimes these saints are well-known and familiar.

And other times, they are pretty obscure, people that I need to do some research on before I give my homily.

That’s something I love doing.

I think of it as part of my continuing education.

Anyway, this past Wednesday we honored someone who was new to me: Moses the Black., also known as Moses the Strong, Moses the Robber, Moses the Egyptian.

Now, we’re not talking about the famous Moses of the Old Testament who led the Israelites from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land.

No, on Wednesday we honored Moses the Black who lived in Egypt in the 300’s, many centuries after the famous Moses.

And in his early years, Moses was a criminal – a robber and perhaps even a murderer.

He and his gang terrorized many communities in Egypt.

The story goes that, after one of his numerous crimes, Moses was on the run from the authorities, and he found himself a pretty good hideout: a monastery.

And it was there in the monastery, among the monks, that Moses experienced a peace like none he had ever known before – and this peace transformed his life.

Moses gave up crime and became a monk himself, devoting the rest of his days to prayer and sacrifice, eventually becoming better known for his holiness than for his past misdeeds.

It’s a great conversion story, isn’t it?

A reminder that, with God’s help, people can and do change.

And, just like many people who have experienced God’s mercy and grace, Moses was reluctant to judge other people.

There’s a story that one of his fellow monks was caught in a misdeed, and all the other monks were gathering to pass judgment on him.

At first, Moses refused to attend this meeting.

But when he finally does show up, he comes carrying a sack of sand on his shoulder.

He had cut a hole in the sack, so the sand was trickling out behind him.

When the monks asked him what was up with the leaking sack of sand, Moses said:  

“My sins run out behind me and I do not see them, but today I am coming to judge the errors of another.”

After Moses said this, the other monks forgave the monk who had done wrong.

Reflecting on Moses the Black’s remarkable story of conversion and faith and sacrifice, I keep thinking about the peace that he experienced when he was hiding out in the monastery.

That peace was much deeper than just the absence of conflict.

That peace was much more profound than just a cease-fire.

That peace was what our Jewish friends call shalom: wholeness and well-being – God’s gift for all of us, if only we would accept it, if only we would nurture it.

And, for the monks, that peace – that shalom – must have taken a lot of effort.

With God’s help, that peace required dealing with differences and disagreements in the community, acknowledging failure and bad behavior – and, most of all, that peace required prayer, lots of prayer.

In today’s gospel lesson we heard the story of Jesus sending out the seventy disciples, two by two, out into the world to continue and extend his work.

Jesus gives them some instructions: travel light and don’t get distracted, stay focused on the mission. 

Jesus says, “Whatever house you enter, first say ‘Peace to this house! And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person, if not it will return to you.”

And now today Jesus gives us the same mission: to offer God’s peace to our broken, grief-stricken, frightened, and not very peaceful world.

And, like those long-ago monks, there’s no way to fulfill our mission without having peace ourselves – without being peace ourselves.

Etty Hillesum was a Dutch Jewish mystic who was murdered by the Nazis in Auschwitz. Living during a terrible and frightening time, here’s what she wrote about peace:  

“Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will be in our troubled world.”

And for the long-ago Egyptian monks and for us today, reclaiming peace requires prayer.

Then as now, monks pray every day.

And, while we’re not monks, we’re called to pray every day, too.

Since prayer is really having a relationship with God who is the Source of Peace, this is how we reclaim peace and share peace.

Prayer can be just taking a quiet moment or two during the day, to remember God, to remember the miracle that we are all here.

Prayer can be just offering a word of thanks when we wake up each morning or when we get ready to close our eyes at the end of the day.

Prayer can be lamenting the tragedies of our world – grieving the people – all the children - washed away by the horrific floods in Texas.

Prayer can be complaining – God, where are you, why do you allow so many terrible things to happen? Why do you allow so many awful people get away with bad things?

Prayer can be asking forgiveness for our own sins, letting them trickle away like the sand from Moses’ sack.

Prayer can be holding onto the Sunday bulletins during the week and praying for all the people on our prayer lists, just read their names, or just run your finger down the list.

        Pray for our ministry of the week – this week it’s the Cemetery Committee - and they always need our prayers to do their holy work.

        Pray for our church, that, in a time of turmoil and division,  we will stay united, that we will continue to welcome everybody who walks through our doors, that we will continue to be a servant church, giving of ourselves to our Afghan friends, the kids at Owings Mills Elementary School, the kids who will be here this week for Paul’s Place Camp, and the counselors and adult leaders who will be giving them wonderful days they will probably never forget.

        Pray for our country, that our divisions may be healed. Pray that our leaders and our people, all of us, will have a conversion of heart and be true to our highest ideals of liberty and justice, for all. 

        Pray for our world that we will at last lay down our weapons and work together to solve the huge problems of this planet.

    Moses the Black once said, “If a man’s deeds are not in harmony with his prayer, he labors in vain.”

    If our deeds are not in harmony with our prayer, we labor in vain.

    You know, the seventy disciples prayed with Jesus all the time and so did those Egyptian monks.

    And God used their prayers to give them the gift of true peace, a gift they were able to share with others.

    You and I can pray with Jesus, too.

    And when we pray, God will give us the gift of shalom – the gift of peace that we can share with anyone who comes through our doors, the gift that we can share everywhere we go.

    May we pray.

    May we be peace.

    May we give peace. 

    Amen.

Exorcists

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 22, 2025

Year C, Proper 7: The Second Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 19:1-15a

Psalm 42 and 43

Galatians 3:23-29

Luke 8:26-39

Exorcists

You may remember that we had a service here on Election Day evening.

Scheduling our service near the time when the polls in Maryland were closing was a deliberate choice – a signal that we weren’t gathered here to pray for a particular outcome, though no doubt plenty of us were doing just that.

No, we were here to place our trust in the God who will not let go of us no matter what – the God who will not let go of us no matter who is President. 

And to make that point, that night I didn’t preach about the election.

I preached about baptism.

And during these tumultuous months, when some of us have believed we’re heading in the right direction while others of us have been shocked and dismayed by so much, I’ve gone right on talking about baptism.

I’ve talked about baptisms because, thank God, we’ve had a lot of baptisms.

And because baptism is where our Christian life begins.

And no matter what’s happening in the world and in our lives, when we remember our baptism, we remember who we are meant to be, who we really are.

We remember whose we are.

And so, this morning, with the dread of yet another war sickening our stomachs, I’d like to begin by talking about baptism – one particular baptism, actually.

Every baptism is a powerful and deeply meaningful experience, but I have to say, that Brendan’s baptism last Sunday was especially powerful and meaningful.

Part of that extra power and meaning came from a beautiful synchronicity that I mentioned last week: Brendan’s mom Leslie was baptized by Dave Hamilton who was also the priest who welcomed Sue and me into the Episcopal Church. As many of you know by now, Dave was a very close friend and mentor who inspired, supported, and nurtured my call to ordained ministry.

I’ll just never get over what feels to me like much more than a coincidence.

But it wasn’t just that spiritual connection that gave Brendan’s baptism extra power and meaning.

It was also the fact that, unlike the babies who are carried to the font, the babies who have no say in the matter, Brendan chose to be baptized.

Baptism was something he wanted for himself.

Brendan is old enough to seek baptism and he’s old enough to make the big baptismal promises, promises that he will strive to keep with God’s help, and with the support of his parents.

Brendan made the promises of the Baptismal Covenant:

The promise to continue to be part of the church.

The promise to resist evil and ask forgiveness when we mess up.

The promise to proclaim the Good News by word and example.

The promise to seek Christ in everyone, to love our neighbor as our self.

The promise to strive for justice and peace, to respect the dignity of everybody.

These promises – trying to keep these promises, with God’s help – should guide Brendan and all of us, especially during these tumultuous times when love, justice, peace, and respect sure seem to be losing ground.

But there’s another part of the baptism service that I rarely mention.

Near the start of last Sunday’s service, I asked Brendan some pretty heavy questions:

“Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?”

“Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?”

“Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?”

Pretty heavy questions for a young boy, but each time he answered with a strong voice:

“I renounce them.”

“I renounce them.”

“I renounce them.”

With each renunciation, Brendan cast away evil.

With each “no,” Brendan rejected the forces of evil and chose instead the way of love.

A powerful moment.

And not so different, really, from… an exorcism.

In his earthly ministry, Jesus was a teacher and a healer, and he was also an exorcist, casting out the evil spirits that held people hostage, restoring them to health and wholeness.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we hear the particularly graphic story of Jesus casting out a legion of demons from this poor tormented man, sending the demons into a herd of swine who then plunge off the cliff to a watery demise.

(Yes, it’s OK to feel bad for the pigs.)

It’s always interesting to me that, unlike his own usually befuddled disciples, the demons always know who Jesus is. 

And sure enough, in this story the demon calls Jesus, “Son of the Most High God.”

And now, after he’s been liberated, the man seems to know who Jesus is, too. 

Jesus sends him back home to tell everyone what God has done for him. And he follows instructions, but adds his own twist, telling people what Jesus had done for him. 

        So, exorcisms.

I don’t often mention Jesus’ exorcisms because, well, for us “modern and enlightened” Christians, the whole idea of an exorcism is kind of embarrassing, it makes us uncomfortable, right?

I mean, we know a whole lot more about sickness than people did two thousand years ago. We know that illness is caused by a range of factors, not necessarily demons.

Plus, exorcisms have been so sensationalized by Hollywood that we can hardly talk about them without images from countless horror movies running through our head.

But exorcisms were an important part of Jesus’ ministry and the ministry of the first disciples, who were empowered by Jesus to cast out demons.

And the church has kept the renunciations of evil in the baptism service because, whatever we may think about Satan and demons, evil is powerful and destructive – evil is powerful and destructive – and, with God’s help, we need to resist evil, to cast away evil, and choose instead the way of love.

        Now, I’m not gonna go down to Wegmans and tell people this exactly, but we are exorcists.

        Through us, in our tumultuous times, Jesus can still cast out demons.

        Two examples:

Last Sunday, just before Brendan’s baptism, a few of us gathered at what we’re calling Gilead House 2, the new rehabilitated house that will soon be a home for an Afghan family that has traveled far and suffered much – they’ve experienced the power of evil.

It was impressive to see all the work that has been done on the house – it looks a whole lot different from the last time I was there!

And it was so beautiful to gather with Jews, Muslims, and other Christians as we blessed the house and asked God to watch over those who will soon live there.

And, of course we didn’t say this exactly, but through our actions and words, we were also exorcists - casting out the evil spirits of mistrust, fear, selfishness, and division, and choosing instead the way of love, widening God’s community of love to include this beautiful family that’s been through so much.

And now, here this morning we will have our second annual Service of Remembering, remembering the people buried in the North Cemetery, the African-American burial ground, just outside our churchyard wall.

As most of you know, over the last few years we have sought to rediscover and remember this important chapter of our church’s history, to remember the story of this piece of land, to remember the people buried there, the people whose names we know and the many more whose names are lost to us but never forgotten by God.

From the start, I think we recognized that our North Cemetery project is holy work.

But this year, this year, when the old demons of hatred, racism, and division are on the loose, this year our Service of Remembering feels a bit like an exorcism.

Through us, Jesus is casting out the demons that can degrade and destroy us just as the legion of demons were destroying that tormented man in today’s gospel lesson.

Through our work together, Jesus is casting out the demons of fear, hate, and division.

        Through our work together, Jesus is walking with us, restoring us to health and wholeness.

        And just like the man who was freed of his demons, Jesus calls us to share the Good News, to share the Good News down at Wegmans and everywhere, to tell them, that yes, we live in tumultuous times, but God will not let go of us, no matter what.

        To tell them, look at what God is doing for and among us here at St. Thomas’, to tell them about a boy who stood before us and made some big promises to God, to tell them that this is a place of remembering and welcome for all, to show them a different way, to invite them to a different way.

        In these tumultuous times,

        May Jesus use us to cast out the demons that torment us.

        May God give us the strength to keep building a community of love.

        Amen.

Closer Than Ever

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 15, 2025

Year C: The First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Psalm 8

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

Closer Than Ever 

Well, last Sunday we had a Pentecost celebration that I doubt any of us who were here will ever forget.

So, let’s see, where to begin?

        Bishop Carrie made her first official visit with us, confirming six of our young people at the 10:00 service.

        It was Rev. Amelia’s first Sunday as a priest, and Bishop Carrie very graciously invited her to give the blessing at the 8:00 service and preside at the altar at 10:00. 

        Celebrating your first Eucharist with the bishop beside you! No pressure!

        And then there was the choir. 

        Just when I think they can’t outdo themselves, they outdo themselves. They sounded absolutely amazing. And Nick Corasiniti’s trumpet-playing on Sweet, Sweet Spirit was the sweet Spirit-filled icing on the Pentecost cake.

        Oh, and yes, there was literal cake during fellowship - two of them, actually!

        And lots of people were here, with many of you remembering to wear red.

        Thanks to the faithfulness, talent, generosity, and hard work of many, it really was an extraordinary celebration.

        And now today, as we do every year on the First Sunday after Pentecost, we are invited to reflect on the inner life of God.

        Today we’re invited to reflect on our understanding of God the Holy Trinity - One in Three Persons – Unity in Diversity.

        Now, the great temptation for anyone tasked with preaching today is to try to somehow explain the Trinity. Just how is it possible for God to be both One and Three?

        Fortunately, I’m not going to fall for that temptation.

        Because the Trinity is not a puzzle to be worked over and solved.

        No, the Trinity is a mystery to be pondered and celebrated.

        So, rather than offer some half-baked explanation, here’s what I will say:

        Our understanding of God the Holy Trinity reveals to us that God is a Community of Love.

        This is what God is.

        God is a Community of Love – the perfect Community of Love – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – the perfect Community of Love – Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier.

        And I assume that God the Community of Love could have gone it alone forever and ever – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – a perfect circle of love for all eternity.

        But, you know, the thing about love is that it’s not really love unless it’s shared. 

        Love must be shared. 

        Maybe even for God, love must be shared.

        And so, God the Perfect Community of Love creates all of us.

        And, most amazing of all, God invites all of us to join the party, invites all of us to be part of the holy and eternal Community of Love.

        And yes, you guessed it, it’s in the water of baptism that we Christians begin to accept God’s invitation to be part of the Community of Love.

        And, with God’s help, we go right on accepting God’s invitation when we keep our baptismal promises – when we keep gathering here to pray and to sing and to serve. 

        We go right on accepting God’s invitation, when we ask forgiveness for our sins, and offer forgiveness when we’ve been wronged.

        With God’s help, we go right on accepting God’s invitation when we share the joy we experience here, last week, today, next week. 

        We go right on accepting God’s invitation when we try to see Jesus in every person we meet, even the people we don’t like at all, and when we work for peace among all people, even the people we don’t trust one bit.

        And when we try to do these things, with God’s help, we move ever deeper into the Community of Love, ever closer to God.

        Now, even if you are only vaguely aware of the news, you know that it seems that our country and much of the world is moving in the opposite direction, moving away from the Community of Love, away from God.

        Hatred and violence are on the rise.

        With so many wars and threats of war, countries are spending even more precious resources on weapons, taking food out of hungry stomachs, fighting over scraps on our degraded and depleted planet.

        But it’s not so among us.

        Here, we accept God’s invitation to the Community of Love by welcoming absolutely everybody, by caring for children who are not our own and yet are our own.

        Here, we accept God’s invitation to the Community of Love by creating and, just this morning, blessing a new home for people who have traveled far from their war-ravaged land, desperately seeking refuge and peace.

        We’re not perfect, of course, but here at St. Thomas’, we accept God’s invitation to the Community of Love.

        Together, we are moving in the right direction, journeying ever deeper into the Community of Love, closer than ever to God.

        Yes, because love must be shared, God the Perfect Community of Love creates all of us – invites all of us to join the party, invites all of us – all of us - to be part of this holy and eternal Community of Love.

        And one last thing:

        In the Community of Love, the living and the dead are spiritually united.

        I have been here with you for just about four years now, which is a little hard to believe.

        And in that time, several parishioners I’ve been especially close with have died.

        And yet, because we are part of God’s holy and eternal Community of Love, and because their prayers still bathe these old walls, I can still feel Jim Piper and Donna Gribble and I can still feel Beaumont and Sandy Martin here with us – so much so, in fact, that occasionally I catch myself forgetting that they have died.

        I’m sure you’ve had that experience with people you’ve loved.

        Someone else who, to me, doesn’t feel dead at all, is my friend and mentor Dave Hamilton.

        I’ve mentioned him to you many times now. He was the priest who welcomed us to our church in Jersey City.

        His outstretched hand changed Sue’s and my life forever. 

        It was through Dave’s friendship and example that God invited me to a very different kind of life, beginning a journey that led to ordination, a journey that eventually led Sue and me here.

        Dave lived long enough to know about St. Thomas’ and some of what was happening here – and he loved hearing about it all.

        He was so happy and proud that I had landed in such a great church.

        One thing that he didn’t know, however, is that someone he had baptized would become a parishioner – a very active parishioner – here at St. Thomas’.

        Leslie Steele was baptized by my friend Dave Hamilton.

        I’ve known that for a while now – but it still kind of blows my mind.

        And now this morning, I’ll have the great joy of baptizing Leslie and Mark’s son Brendan, who has also become a much-loved member of our community.

        With all of us gathered around him, Brendan will accept God’s invitation to the Community of Love.

        And so today on Trinity Sunday, watched over by a great cloud of witnesses, Brendan and all of us here will accept the most holy invitation.

        Together, we will journey ever deeper into the Community of Love.

        Closer than ever to one another.

        Closer than ever to God.

        Amen.