The Great Unburdening

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 24, 2025

Year C, Proper 16: The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

Hebrews 12:18-29

Luke 13:10-17

The Great Unburdening

So, many of you know that I was recently on vacation. I was off for about ten days, a good amount of time for rest and recharging.

For the first half I was out of town (and I’ll come back to that in a few minutes) and for the second half, I was around here, just sort of goofing off.

That’s why, last week, here at St. Thomas’, Rev. Amelia had her first solo Sunday morning, including her first and second baptisms, and if you were here or watched online, you know that, no surprise, it was a beautiful morning.

Meanwhile, I worshiped out our cathedral down in Baltimore City where I had the rare-for-me, and really great, experience of just being a Christian in the pew, not having to worry about how things were going, not having to focus on what I’m supposed to say or do next.

In many ways, the service at the cathedral was very much like a typical Sunday here, especially the joyfulness.

Being in the pew with the wonderfully diverse congregation, I could really see and feel the joy – every single person was glad to be there. Just like here, no one was in church out of a sense of obligation or a desire to be seen.

It wasn’t always that way, of course. 

For a long time, at least some people came to church because it was expected, it was simply the thing you did, it was a place to see and be seen.

And, while it might be nice to have that kind of attendance again, I wouldn’t go back to those days. I’ll take somewhat reduced numbers if everybody’s here because they want to be here – I’ll take reduced attendance in exchange for the joy that we experience here every week.

Our Jewish brothers and sisters have never lost their joyful sabbath spirit.

Yes, keeping the sabbath is one of the Ten Commandments, but down through the centuries, Jews have received the sabbath as a great gift from God, a day not so much of obligation but freedom – a day when everyone – even the beasts of burden – everyone is released from daily drudgery – a day for prayer and praise - a day when families and friends are meant to enjoy each other’s company – a day when married couples are encouraged to spend quality time together.

The sabbath was and is meant to be a joyful gift.

And if you’ve ever been at Trader Joe’s in Pikesville on a Friday, no doubt you’ve seen many of our Jewish neighbors buying flowers to beautify their sabbath table.

Sabbath joy.

But, of course, not everyone is able to experience that sabbath joy.

Some people are heavy burdened; bent by the weight they carry.

That’s true today and it was true back in the first century, too.

As we just heard, in today’s gospel lesson, it’s the sabbath and Jesus the faithful Jew is in the synagogue, teaching.

Lots of other people are there, too, including a long-suffering woman, literally bent for 18 years.

It’s very moving to me that she’s there – maybe it’s out of a sense of faithfulness, maybe out of obedience, but it’s surely not because she expects her ailment to be cured.

She doesn’t ask for healing, probably she doesn’t even think of it.

Or, then again, maybe she’s heard about Jesus’ miraculous reputation, but she still doesn’t dare to ask for her own miracle.

Well, without asking, Jesus heals her.

And we’re told that the synagogue leader objects – it might be because he feels threatened by Jesus’ power. After all, how many people has he healed?

Or maybe he’s simply stating a fact, that this kind of non-life-threatening healing could’ve waited until sunset. Jesus could’ve held off until after the sabbath was over.

But, of course, the leader misses the point.

God’s law, God’s love, is all about liberation, all about unburdening.

And Jesus the Liberator, was there, lifting the burden of this poor woman, allowing her to joyfully celebrate the sabbath for the first time in eighteen years.

        And today Jesus the Liberator is here, Jesus is still here, still able to lift our burdens.

        And that’s the source of the joy I experienced at the Cathedral last week, the joy I experience here all the time.

        Yes, we all carry troubles and worries.

        Some of us feel the heavy weight of what’s happening in our own lives and what’s going on across the country and around the world – I don’t need to run down the long list of suffering.

        How could we not feel the weight these things?

        But Jesus the Liberator is here, at work in and among us, lifting our burdens by reminding us that we are loved, that we are not alone, that we have each other – we have this beautiful St. Thomas’ community – and, most of all, we have a God who will simply not let go of us, no matter how heavy our burdens, no matter what.

        And in our baptismal promises we sign up to be part of this great unburdening.

        When we promise to be here, to ask forgiveness and repent, to love our neighbor – especially the people we don’t like or trust – especially the people we’re taught to hate and fear – when we make and renew those big promises and, with God’s help, when we live out those promises, we’re part of this great unburdening, this great unburdening that all the bent-over people of today so desperately need.

        And we’re all included in this work, all of us, very much including teenagers like Jeremiah, who, as we heard in today’s first lesson, he thought he was too young to be a prophet. “I am only a boy,” he objects.

        But Jeremiah was called to be a prophet despite, or maybe because of, his youth.

        We’re all included in this work, even our youngest children, even young Whit here, who is about to be baptized.

        So, I said at the start of my sermon, I’d come to back to the part of my vacation when I was away.

        And I want to share with you a small, simple moment that I observed.

        I was in a restaurant by myself, which always a little awkward, right? And also, when you’re by yourself and don’t have anything in particular to do, you have time to think, and when you have time to think, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and start to bend under the burdens of life.

        Anyway, sitting at a table across from me was a mom and her daughter, who was about four.

        The daughter wore glasses, you know the kind that look like goggles, with the strap round her head.             

        Very cute.

        So, after they’ve been sitting there for a few minutes, the people they’d been waiting for arrive, a middle-aged couple, probably husband and wife.

        The mom and daughter both get up.

        Smiles all around, the mom politely hugged the man and the woman – you know, grown up, slightly awkward, hugs.

        But the daughter with her little goggles, hugged in turn the man and the woman, wrapping her arms around their shins, resting her head against their legs.

        After she had hugged them both she made her way back to her seat but when she realized that her mom and the couple were still standing and talking, she came back for another round of hugs.

        I think the mom was as little embarrassed by her daughter’s enthusiasm, but the couple was just beaming.

        And why wouldn’t they be?

        Like all of us, I’m sure they were burdened by their own troubles and the troubles of the world, but that moment was a great unburdening – a reminder of the love and joy that God intends for us on the sabbath and always.

        For us, Jesus is the Liberator.

        And in this time of many troubles, we are all called to do our part in the great unburdening.

        All of us are called to share God’s love, maybe with something as simple as a hug.

        Amen.

 

Prayer and Work

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 10, 2025

Year C, Proper 14: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20

Psalm 50:1-8, 23-24

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Luke 12:32-40

Prayer and Work

For Kit

        So, partly because of Rev. Amelia’s arrival, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the first days of my ordained ministry. 

        Back when I was in seminary, whenever I imagined my future church, I saw a city church. After all, that’s where I was from, that’s what I knew, that’s where I was comfortable.

        It made sense.

        I was sure that this was what God had planned for me.

But when I graduated and was ordained there really weren’t any city churches available, so, with some hesitation, I accepted a call to serve as the Curate (or, Assistant Rector) at Grace Church in Madison NJ, a beautiful church in a lovely suburban town.

        Now, Madison is only 23 miles from my hometown Jersey City but at first it felt like a whole different world.

I arrived there, a brand-new priest, unsure of myself, feeling kind of insecure around people who I imagined were much more polished and sophisticated than I was.

I wondered if we would have anything in common.

        Would we be able to relate to each other?

        Would I be a good priest for them?

        Well, in a life full of blessings, Grace Church was one of the very best.

        First of all, the rector, the Rev. Lauren Ackland, was a wonderfully supportive mentor.

        From the start, she told me that she was looking for a “partner in ministry,” not some kind of underling, not a priest who would be kept in a very narrow lane.

        And, sure enough, she shared the whole church with me, encouraging me to get involved in all of it, to try out my own ideas and see what worked and what didn’t.

        A great experience and a very effective way to learn.

        And I’ve told Amelia that I hope to be the same kind of mentor that Lauren was for me. (You can ask her how I’m doing!)

        Another thing about Grace Church is that it had many excellent ministries. 

        Grace was committed to good works.

        Just a few examples include  Habitat for Humanity, preparing and serving food at a local soup kitchen, donating lots of food and other supplies. There was a large choir, which included many kids and youth. There was even a group that cared for the church grounds. They called themselves the “Lay Weeders.”

         So, there was a lot going on, so much ministry - more than I had ever seen at a church, honestly.

         I think I told you once before about my first meeting with Lauren when she ran down the list of all the good stuff that was happening at the church. At one point, I interrupted her and asked a question that now embarrasses me a little. I asked something like “What makes all of this possible? Why are there so many great ministries here?”

        And without hesitation, Lauren said that it was because of the “daily worship.”

        Amazingly, Grace Church offered at least one public service of worship every day of the year – and Lauren claimed that was the source of this abundant good work.

        I’ll be honest, I didn’t really believe her but, in time, I realized that she was right.

        Although most of the weekday services were not well attended – in fact, sometimes it was just the officiant all alone, praying on behalf of everybody – I’m convinced that all that worship had a powerful spiritual effect on the whole community.

        To use Lauren’s phrase, the church walls were “bathed in prayer.”

        “Bathed in prayer” every day.

        As I’ve said before, offering daily worship here is a goal of mine. We’ve only got four more days to cover, so we’ll see, maybe we’ll get there!

        But, as we heard in today’s first lesson from Isaiah, none of our worship is pleasing to God if we are not also “seeking justice, rescuing the oppressed, defending the orphan, pleading for the widow.”

        None of our worship pleases God if we are not also sharing God’s blessings, caring for the poor, and standing beside the vulnerable.

        Prayer and work.

        I’ve also been thinking back to those early days because a man named Kit Cone died a couple of weeks ago.

        Kit was a fascinating guy, smart and clever, and a deeply committed Christian.

         For many years he had owned a local newspaper, and he also spent a great deal of his life serving as a missionary in Liberia.

        Kit was a very large and much-loved and respected presence at Grace Church.

        I’m pretty sure he was the first verger that I ever met.

        He also officiated at many of the weekday services – and had the challenging job of scheduling the officiants and readers at all those services.

        He was deeply rooted in prayer and worship and, I have to say, he was also very particular about how both lay people and clergy should play their roles in church.

        Some years before I arrived, a priest from the city of Newark called the Grace Church. He said that a family had been burned out of their home, and he hoped that maybe the people of Grace could provide some assistance.

        Kit and other parishioners swung into action. They gathered and delivered many of the items that a family with almost nothing might need – and from that experience of generosity and service to the poorest of the poor, a new ministry was born.

        For most of its history it was called the Recycling Ministry – maybe not the best name because it sounded like they collected bottles and cans – but for years they accepted donations of furniture, appliances, linens, and so on, much of which was stored in garages donated by the church.

        It seemed like almost every day, Kit – who had a truck he called “Bruno” – and his band of volunteers - some parishioners, some not - would head out, either to pick up donations or to deliver much needed items to people in need.

        Later, when I was back in Jersey City, one of our church families had found a place to live but had very little. So, I called Kit and, sure enough, he and “Bruno” and some volunteers made the trip from Madison to Jersey City and furnished this family’s new and very bare apartment.

        I remember looking at the family – the parents and their two daughters - watching all of this in amazement.

        This “old man with a truck,” as he often called himself, was such a blessing for them and for so many others.

        Since Kit was a newspaperman, each day he would send out an email called the “RM Notes” detailing the daily work of the ministry along with his own keen and quirky observations from the road – like updates on the price of gas, or the opening and closing of restaurants and stores.

        The Recycling Ministry was a very special ministry.

        And I think you’ll agree that it has a kind of St. Thomas’ ring to it, but that’s not why I’m telling you about it today.

        In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells us to be generous, and also warns us to be alert, to stay awake.

        And I think that’s a very good reason to gather here as often as possible to pray and sing and to receive Christ’s Body and Blood into our bodies and souls.

        When we do that, day after day – when we bathe these old walls in prayer, week after week – we are more alert, more openhearted, more ready to respond to whatever God may be calling us to do.

        And, you know, just like many years ago at Grace Church when a phone call gave birth to the Recycling Ministry, I’ve seen that same beautiful process happen right here.

        Because we pray together and hear God’s Word together, a few conversations about the plight of Afghan refugees evolved into a life-changing ministry, life-changing for both the Afghans and us.

        Because we pray together and hear God’s Word together, some parishioners reading with kids at Owings Mills Elementary School bloomed into a life-changing ministry, life-changing for both the children and us.

        Prayer and work.

        This is how we praise God.

        This is how we please God, both at Grace Church and here at St. Thomas’.

        We gather for prayer, where we are equipped, readied, for the ministry God calls us to do.

        Prayer and work.

        Kit Cone understood that. And he lived that.

        Amen.

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.