Sunday, March 17, 2024

"We Wish To See Jesus"



St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
March 17, 2024

Year B: The Fifth Sunday in Lent
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Psalm 51:1-13
Hebrews 5:5-10
John 12:20-33

“We Wish To See Jesus”

Back in Jersey City, I used to participate in Lenten services sponsored by the Liturgical Churches Union – an organization of predominately Black churches, mostly representing different branches of the Methodist tradition.
Not being Black, and also not being Methodist, I did sometimes feel a little like the “odd man out” but it’s valuable and instructive for those of us who are usually in the majority to be perhaps a little uncomfortable, to get a taste of what it’s like to be in the minority.
That said, the other clergy and their church members were always very welcoming, always glad that my parishioners and I were there.
The Lenten services were one night a week, held at different participating churches.
Each week, one of us ministers would preach, always accompanied by our choir.
So my parishioners and I got to hear different preaching styles and we got to enjoy some really excellent choirs.
And the pastors and people from the other churches got to hear our wonderful choir – and they got to hear me preach.
Now, I’ve been at this long enough to have settled on my preaching style.
You’ve probably noticed.
So, at these Lenten services, I didn’t pretend to be someone I’m not – but I did have to lengthen my sermons, a bit.
If you’ve timed me, you know that I tend to preach around twelve minutes.
Well, at the twelve-minute mark, my fellow pastors would really just be getting started!
Anyway, it really was great to hear the preaching and the various choirs.
And it was a blessing to make friends among the Black clergy in town.
And it was also fascinating to get inside all of these different churches, to see the architecture and art, to preach from unfamiliar pulpits.
One of the churches was the Metropolitan AME Zion Church, where Martin Luther King Jr. spoke, about a week before he was assassinated.
There’s a sign in Metropolitan’s pulpit, visible only to the preacher. It must have been visible to Dr. King.
The sign reads: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”
“We wish to see Jesus.”
What a powerful reminder to every preacher that the people before us have not gathered to hear how clever or funny or intelligent or fiery or brief or long-winded we are.
No, all of us, people and pastors, all of us come here, week after week, because we wish to see Jesus.

In today’s gospel lesson, we briefly encounter a group of people – we’re told they are Greeks – who wish to see Jesus.
The setting is Jerusalem, near the time of the Passover.
We’ll mark Palm Sunday next week but in this passage, Jesus has already arrived in the capital city, has already paraded on a donkey through the streets as people lay palms and cloaks along his way.
So, it’s no surprise that a group of out of town visitors would want to see Jesus.
They had probably already heard of him and they surely were aware of the palm parade.
We’re not told if these Greeks ever did get to see Jesus, they are not mentioned again.
But, in his words that follow, Jesus shows himself - reveals himself and his mission for all to see.
Jesus will be glorified not by the Palm Parade, not by taking his seat on a throne in a palace.
No, Jesus will be glorified by giving away his life on the cross.
Jesus will be the seed that dies so new life can take root – so new life can take root for him and for us all.
And when we see Jesus, Jesus always calls us to follow him – to follow him by giving away our lives in loving service, by striving to love everyone, especially the people we don’t like or trust, the people we find so hard to love.

“We wish to see Jesus.”

One of the ironies of being a priest is that I spend a good bit of time encouraging people to stay in the moment, to look for how God might be at work, right here and right now.
Unfortunately, the nature of my job makes this particularly difficult for me.
So, I’m trying – I’m really trying – to be right here and right now with you on the Fifth Sunday in Lent. But not very far in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about Palm Sunday – will the palms arrive in time – will the weather allow us to have our little palm parade? 
I’m thinking about Holy Week – will all those bulletins get edited and printed – will the copier fail us in our moment of greatest need - and will I find the right words in all those sermons – sermons that will hopefully help people to see Jesus.
And, of course, I’m thinking about Easter Day – the biggest day of the church year.
Hopefully, on Easter morning we will welcome lots of people, many of whom haven’t been here since Christmas, or maybe last Easter, or perhaps even longer than that.
Now it might be tempting to make wisecracks – “Don’t forget we’re here every Sunday!” or “Hey stranger, how’ve you been?”
We won’t do that, of course.
We should and will be thankful and joyful to see everybody, all of these people who will be here for all kinds of reasons.
For some, it’s simply tradition.
It’s Easter and we go to church.
For others, they may want to see and hear beauty – the gorgeous flowers, the glorious music, the stylish hats and outfits.
For some, maybe it’s a way to keep mom or grandma happy.
“All right, I’ll go to church.”
But, I think, deep down inside, these people will be here for the same ultimate reason that we come here all the time.
In a world that seems to be obsessed with hate and violence and division, in a time when so many are tempted to follow the way of death, in a place where our lives are often consumed by work and family responsibilities and holding on to what we’ve got and fears about the future, in a time and place such as this, people may not even know it, or won’t even admit it, but they wish to see Jesus.
We wish to see Jesus.
And so, on Easter and all the time, our job – our privilege – is to show them – to show one another - Jesus.
May they see Jesus in this community of people from different places and with lots of different viewpoints, who transcend our differences with love and service.
May they see Jesus in this servant church, where we give not just from what’s left over after our needs are met but we give in ways that really cost us – really take some of our valuable time, talent, and treasure.
May they see Jesus in God’s Word and most of all in the in the Bread and the Wine.
And, God willing, may they even see Jesus in the sermon, in twelve minutes or less.
The people – the people out there – the people wish to see Jesus – they need to see Jesus.
So, with God’s help, on Easter and always, let’s show them Jesus.
Amen.

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Look and Live!



Look and Live!

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
March 10, 2024

Year B: The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Numbers 21:4-9
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22
Ephesians 2:1-10
John 3:14-21

I hope you know that I could stand up here all day and talk about the many blessings of serving as the Rector of this church.
But, don’t worry. Since we don’t have all day, I’ll just mention that Sue and I feel very fortunate to live in the beautiful rectory that you have provided for us.
Frankly, it seems a bit much, but we’ll take it!
` That said, I do miss being able to just walk out my door and take a walk. It took a while for me to get used to there not being a sidewalk, that I can only walk as far as the end of the driveway.
Actually, that’s not totally true.
Our sexton Ricky Sigai maintains a mown path through the wide field between the rectory and the western edge of the cemetery.
One morning not long after we had moved in, I decided to walk that path to work.
I wore my sneakers and placed my dress shoes in a bag, and made my way through the field – a really beautiful trip of about a third of a mile.
Me being me, I stopped a couple of times to take pictures of our campus from this new-to-me vantage point.
Anyway, it was a very pleasant and uneventful walk – and I remember thinking that I might do this on days when the weather was good and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need my car.
Later that morning, maybe because I felt a little proud of myself, I told this story to the “crafty” members of what’s now called the “Thursday Morning Group.”
And one of them said, “You better watch out for snakes.”
What???
She said, there are probably a lot of snakes out in that field.
Now, because I looked it up, I know that there are only two species of poisonous snakes in Maryland, that most snakes are perfectly harmless, but I have to say that this little piece of information changed my view of my pleasant walk through the field.
I’ve taken that trip a few more times but always stepping gingerly, always looking out for any slithering and hissing surprises.

In the ancient world, people feared snakes and also respected them.
They were sometimes seen as symbols of healing and fertility.
But, fairly or not, in the Bible, the snake – or the serpent – is almost always viewed in a negative light, including right from the start in the Garden of Eden when the serpent convinces the first man and woman to make a big mistake.
And in today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard a disturbing snake story.
The setting is the long exodus from Egypt and the Israelites are once again complaining about the trip – they’re sick of the food, which, by the way, was the manna given them by God.
They’re sort of the ultimate example of a long road trip with kids in the back seat bellyaching, “Are we there yet?”
Well, the story goes that God gets so fed up with their complaining that God sends poisonous snakes to bite and kill them.
No surprise, this gets the Israelites to quickly change their tune.
And God tells Moses to create a bronze snake, stick it on a pole, and anyone who gets bitten by a snake should look at the pole and live.
And that’s just what they do.
Now, if you find this story disturbing, you’re in good company.
First of all, there’s the whole issue of God unleashing poisonous snakes on people.
And there’s also more than a whiff of magic and idolatry in this story.
Later on, that’s what bothered the rabbis.
So they suggested that Israelites weren’t so much looking at the bronze snake but gazing at God above, the Source of healing and life.
And this might be what Jesus has in mind in today’s gospel lesson.
Jesus will be lifted up – lifted up on the cross – exalted on the cross – revealing the bottomless depth of God’s love for the world.
God loves the world so much that the Son of God takes the worst that the world can dish out – betrayal, rejection, cruelty, suffering, and death – the Son of God takes all of our deadly venom and triumphs.

There’s a 19th Century hymn called “Look and Live.”
Maybe some of you know it.
We actually can’t sing it right now – not just because of my voice - but because it contains the word that we absolutely do not say during Lent.
But, editing out that word, it goes like this:
“I’ve a message from the Lord…
The message unto you I’ll give.
‘Tis recorded in His Word…
It is only that you “look and live.”
“Look and live,” my brother, live.
Look to Jesus now and live.
‘Tis recorded in His Word…
It is only that you “look and live.”
Look and live.
Look to Jesus now and live.

As always, there are venomous snakes out there slithering and hissing and biting, injecting their deadly venom into the world and, worst of all, into our hearts.
There’s so much poison flowing through our veins – fear, violence, wrath, greed, deceit.
There’s so much poison flowing through our veins, wreaking havoc and leading us along the way of death.
Fortunately, there is an antidote to this venom.
Look and live.
Look to Jesus now and live.

Today is the Fourth Sunday in Lent.
We are drawing close to Easter, a closeness symbolized by today’s switch of liturgical color from penitential purple to rejoicing rose.
We know that the path ahead will be difficult and dangerous. There really are poisonous snakes around.
But we can always look to Jesus and live.
We can be at the foot of the Cross and look in wonder at the Son of God who gives away his life, revealing the bottomless depth of God’s love for us, showing us what God is really like, showing us who we are meant to be.
Look and live.
And we can look to Jesus’ friends in the world right now – Jesus’ friends right here in our community – sacrificing so that the guests at the Community Crisis Center can wash and care for themselves properly – teaching our children the Way of God’s Love in Sunday School – making sandwiches for people we’ll never meet at Paul’s Place – gathering together to pray, worship, serve, and study, even though we come from different places and surely disagree about all kinds of things.
God loves the world so much - yes, even the snakes - God loves the world so much that the Son of God takes the worst that the world can dish out – rejection, cruelty, suffering, and death – the Son of God takes all of our deadly venom and triumphs.
So, no matter how many slithering and hissing and biting snakes are around, trying to inject their venom into our world and into us, we also triumph when we:
Look and live.
Look to Jesus now and live.
Amen.

Sunday, March 03, 2024

Sacred People, Sacred Places



St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
March 3, 2024

Year B: The Third Sunday in Lent
Exodus 20:1-17
Psalm 19
1 Corinthians 1:18-25
John 2:13-22

Sacred People, Sacred Places

Well, we are now just about halfway through the season of Lent.
So, if you haven’t yet chosen a Lenten discipline – something to take on or something to give up – there’s still time to get started.
And if your Lenten discipline has already fallen by the wayside, do not despair! There is still time to get back on track!
Lent, of course, began on Ash Wednesday.
And each Ash Wednesday is pretty much the same as the last – we follow the same ritual, say the same words.
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
But this year, Ash Wednesday has been sticking with me more than usual.
I’m not sure why.
I think part of it is that I’ve been here a while now – we’ve been through a lot together, through life and death, through lots of baptisms and lots of funerals, too.
We’ve gotten to know each other – I feel close to you and, frankly, I don’t want to think of any of you dying.
I think I’m also more aware of how fragile we are, how fragile I am - how one wrong move, how one phone call or text, how one piece of bad news can seem to change everything.
We are dust, and to dust we shall return.
But we are not just any old dust.
We are dust loved by God – loved by God so much that God chose to become dust, too – to join us here in this dusty life, in and through Jesus Christ.
By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes us dusty people sacred.
By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes the earth, all of its dusty places, sacred.
Sacred people, sacred places.

About a week and a half ago, I made a very quick trip back home to Jersey City.
I saw my parents – who are doing fine and who say hi to all of you – and we had dinner with my sister. It was a very rare and special occurrence for just the four of us to be together – a reunion of my family’s “original cast.”
I also spent some time with my friend and mentor Lauren, who was the rector of the church where I served when I was first ordained.
Lauren taught me so much about what it means to be a priest and a pastor, about deep devotion to the church’s people and its ministries.
She was the one who revealed the importance of weekday prayer and worship, bathing the church walls in prayer, somehow making all the difference, even for people who never attend a weekday service.
The best parts of my priesthood I learned from Lauren.
And, before I returned to Maryland, I had breakfast with my friend Catherine.
Catherine was not a parishioner of my former church but she lived in the neighborhood and was deeply committed to the community.
She is also a super-talented chef.
One day, a little more than ten years ago now, she came to see me about possibly hosting a monthly community supper in our Parish Hall.
She wanted to call it “Stone Soup.”
And so that’s what we did.
Catherine wasn’t only particular about the food she prepared and served – she only used fresh and healthy ingredients – she also took great care with the finer points of hospitality, setting our parish hall tables with beautiful table cloths and little floral arrangements.
The thought had been that we would be feeding people who might not otherwise be eating that night, people without homes or food.
Some of those people did come but mostly it was neighborhood people, some parishioners – some families but a lot of people who had a place to live and enough food to eat but no one with whom to share it.
Our suppers offered not just good food for the belly, but community for the soul – the gift of breaking bread together, talking, laughing, communion.
While I was back home, I took the “long way,” driving around the city, trying to catch glimpses of places meaningful for me – the school and church where I learned about Jesus - the seemingly forsaken streets where violence is common, the corners we would bless and reclaim as sacred each Good Friday – the church where Sue and I entered the Episcopal Church and where I later served as Rector – and the waterfront with its views of the New York City skyline, both beautiful and painful.
Sacred people, sacred places.

For Jews of two thousand years ago, the Temple in Jerusalem was the most sacred place in the universe.
It was where, in a sense, God was believed to dwell.
It was where Jews came from near and far to make sacrifices, trying to keep their end of the Covenant with God.
And just like the church or any other institution, the Temple had a system, a way to keep things organized and functioning as designed.
The moneychangers played an important part in that system, exchanging coins bearing the image of the Roman emperor for coins free of graven images that could be used to purchase animals to be sacrificed by the priests.
And just like the church or any other institution, it was possible that the people who worked at the Temple lost sight of the big picture, got caught up in the daily business, forgetting its core mission.
Well, it certainly seems like that’s what Jesus thought had happened.
And he sure made quite a dramatic display that day in the Temple, fired up, disrupting that day’s business and worship, calling people back to prayer and worship that was more pure and holy.
The Gospel of John, which is what we heard today, was completed around the year 100 – seventy or so years after Jesus’ earthly lifetime – and thirty years after the Romans destroyed Jerusalem, burning down the Temple, destroying the holiest place on earth.
This was a cataclysm for the Jewish people, raising questions of survival, of how to adapt to life without Temple sacrifices, how to keep the Covenant without the priests slaughtering all those animals.
Eventually, Judaism evolved beyond the priests, keeping the Covenant through loving devotion and careful obedience to God’s Law.
And the early followers of Jesus, both Jews and Gentiles, came to understand that, for us, Jesus is the Temple – Jesus is the Person and Place of sacrifice and reconciliation – Jesus is the Temple that was destroyed and did indeed rise on the third day.
By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes us dusty people sacred – all of us here today, my parents and sister, my friends Lauren and Catherine, all the people out there going about their business maybe totally unaware of God’s love, all of us
By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes the earth, all of its dusty places, sacred – all of it, the church where I learned to be a priest, the parish hall where we broke bread, the street corners stained by blood and suffering, all of it.

Lent is just about halfway over.
Whether we haven’t even started or we’ve already slipped up, all of us can have a holy Lent if we remember this:
By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes us dusty people sacred.
By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes the earth, all of its dusty places, sacred.
Sacred people, sacred places.
Amen.



Sunday, February 25, 2024

Walking In Love



St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
February 25, 2024

Year B: The Second Sunday in Lent
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16
Psalm 22:22-30
Romans 4:13-25
Mark 8:31-38

Walking In Love

Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

Last Friday evening, some of us who have been involved in helping our Afghan friends got together over at Gilead House.
We had been invited by our very first Afghan friend – Hizbullah – whom we first met about a year and a half ago.
As some of you know, Hizbullah is a very bright and personable guy – a go-getter for sure. So, to no one’s surprise, he has already done quite well here in his new country.
In fact, he’s just gotten himself a new job in Washington DC. Which means he’s leaving Baltimore, which is definitely bittersweet for everyone who has gotten to know him here.
So before leaving, Hizbullah invited us for one last get-together, to say thank you for the welcome and the help.
During the party, as I looked around the room at our own parishioners, and parishioners from St. Mark’s in Pikesville, and members of the synagogue Chizuk Amuno, and Betty Symington who leads ERICA, our local Episcopal group helping refugees, when I looked around at all these wonderfully capable and generous people, I thought back to a memorable lunch I had with our parishioner Louis Hogan over at the Greenspring Club, not long after I first arrived here.
We got to talking about the fall of Afghanistan and the dire plight of the Afghans desperately trying to flee, including many who had assisted the US during our long entanglement with their country.
Louis wondered if there was something that we – St. Thomas’ – might do.
And so began a long and winding journey, with many fits and starts along the way.
We learned a lot about the challenging and complicated work of refugee resettlement.
We made friends with Betty at ERICA, and folks at St. Mark’s and Chizuk Amuno, and elsewhere.
And, eventually, we welcomed Hizbullah and Abdul and Abobaker and others.
By now, Hizbullah has learned a lot about America and so he was aware that Valentine’s Day had just passed. And so he made a point of inviting spouses to his pizza party.
And so as I looked around the room, I thought of how much time and energy these wonderful people and their wives and husbands have sacrificed to welcome strangers – I thought of all the rides to and from school and work and all sorts of appointments – I thought of all the hours trying to cut through really thick and sticky red tape – I thought of all the dinner invitations and outings – I thought of all the sacrifices, although I know that each one of these people would say that caring for our new friends may not have always been easy but it has always been a gift and a blessing.

Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

One of the curious themes in the gospels is the fact that the disciples – Jesus’ friends and followers – usually have a hard time figuring out who he is exactly and what is mission is all about.
The demons always know who Jesus is, but his friends, not so much.
There are exceptions, though, or at least partial exceptions.
Just before today’s passage from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” 
That was an easy one – the disciples knew that people thought that Jesus was the return of one of Israel’s great prophets.
But then Jesus asks his disciples a tougher question.
“But who do you say that I am?”
Probably to everyone’s surprise including his own, it’s Peter who gets the answer exactly right:
He says, “You are the Messiah.”
At that moment, I always imagine Peter kind of shyly beaming, like the only student in class to give the correct answer.
But, as we heard today, the problem is that Peter and the others have not yet grasped just what kind of Messiah Jesus is.
They probably have visions of worldly glory and triumph – glory and triumph that the hoped to enjoy as Jesus’ top lieutenants.
So it must have come as quite a shock when Jesus told his friends that he was going to suffer – that he would be rejected by all the world’s powerful people – that he would be executed.
What kind of messiah – what kind of savior – is that?
Jesus also mentioned that he would rise again on the third day but by then I doubt anyone was still listening.
Peter simply cannot accept this – can’t accept that his Lord and friend was going to be hurt and die – and Peter may also have made the leap to wondering just what Jesus’ suffering and death would mean for him and the other disciples. 
And so Peter pulls Jesus aside and rebukes Jesus – a strong word, rebuke – in the gospels it’s often used when dealing with demons and evil spirits.
But Jesus does not accept Peter’s rebuke and turns it back on him, calling Peter “Satan,” the tempter – tempting Jesus to turn away from his mission of sacrifice and love.

Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

Walking in love may sound sweet and sentimental but Jesus teaches us that this kind of love is expensive – it cost Jesus and his friends a lot – and it will cost us a lot, too.
But Jesus knows that offering ourselves, sacrificing ourselves, is the only way to new life.
The Bible and Christian history teach us that this is true.
And the Annual Report of this parish also teaches that this is true.
If you take the time to read the report – which I hope you will – you’ll find that there has been a whole lot of walking in love – a whole lot of self-offering and sacrifice – here at St. Thomas’ over the past year.
I’ve already mentioned all the time and effort given for our Afghan friends, but on just about every page you can read about so many parishioners – you - who have given of yourselves so abundantly.
You’ve given astronomical amounts of time to our church and its ministries and shared your talents and your treasure so generously: planning and leading Bible Study – polishing silver and brass and arranging flowers – rehearsing hymns and anthems – assisting at worship as ushers, lectors, chalicists, and acolytes – crafting quilts and blankets for people sorely in need of some warmth and comfort – guiding our Preschool and Sunday School so they can continue to be places of care and education for our children – being wise stewards of our wealth and property – writing hundreds of thank you notes to people who have pledged or given in other ways - looking into painful chapters of our church history that have been neglected or even forgotten, remembering and re-membering – sharing our time and resources with people at Paul’s Place, the Community Crisis Center, Owings Mills Elementary School and other places of good work - coming to church regularly, even when maybe you don’t feel like it, because God has been so good to us and, who knows, maybe the person sitting near you just really needs you to be here.
Yes, there has been a whole lot of walking in love – a whole lot of self-offering and sacrifice – here at St. Thomas’ over the past year.
And no one has given more of herself to our church than Jesse VanGeison.
Although much of her work as Senior Warden has taken place behind the scenes at many meetings – so many meetings – you know that on top of her many warden responsibilities, Jesse also coordinates hospitality on Sunday, is leading our Cemetery Unity Committee with great devotion, and, as if that were not enough, has recently stepped up yet again to coordinate our Sunday School.
All of this on top of her demanding professional responsibilities.
It is a rare day that Jesse and our exceptional Junior Warden Barritt Peterson and I aren’t in some kind of communication – innumerable texts, and phone calls, and, yes, meetings both in person and on Zoom.
Over these past couple of years I’ve come to know what many of you have known for a long time: Jesse is an extraordinary person – wise and skilled and generous – and with a really big heart.
At the end of most of our meetings or calls, Jesse will ask me, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Is there anything I can do to support you?”
What a tremendous gift and example for all of us – a servant leader for a servant church, walking in love, giving away so much of herself for God and for us.

So, yes, there has been a whole lot of walking in love – a whole lot of self-offering and sacrifice – here at St. Thomas’ over the past year.
And look where it has brought us!
Peter wasn’t able to hear Jesus say that he would rise again on the third day, but, eventually, he got it – he experienced the New Life of Jesus.
And, during a hard time in our land and our world and many of our lives, maybe we can’t hear the promise of new life, either.
So I say, read the Annual Report.
Or just look around.
And, most of all, let’s keep walking – let’s keep walking together – walking in love as Christ loved us, an offering and sacrifice to God.
Amen.

Sunday, February 18, 2024

The God of Second Chances



St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
February 18, 2024

Year B: The First Sunday in Lent
Genesis 9:8-17
Psalm 25:1-9
1 Peter 3:18-22
Mark 1:9-15

The God of Second Chances

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”
Maybe you’ve heard that quote from the writer Maya Angelou.
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”
Maya Angelou’s words point to the importance of first impressions and trusting our gut.
The quote comes up a lot when a politician or a celebrity does something wrong – something wrong that comes as no surprise to anyone who has been paying attention all along.
And I bet this quote rings true for any of us who’ve been burned by someone – burned by the same someone in the same way – over and over again.
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”
The idea seems to be that it’s better to make a quick decision about someone, better to not hope for improvement, better to avoid disappointment, heartbreak, or worse.
Maya Angelou was very wise but, fortunately for us, this is not how God operates.
No, God is the God of Second Chances.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard the end of the story of the Great Flood, Noah, and the Ark filled with pairs of the world’s creatures.
Just like the story of Jonah that we talked about a few weeks ago, Noah’s Ark is one of the Bible stories that we often share with children – probably because there are animals involved.
I wonder about that because, when you stop and think about them, both stories have terrifying elements.
Jonah spending three days and nights in the belly of the Great Fish sounds like the stuff of nightmares.
And even worse, God getting so fed up with our misbehavior that God floods the entire planet, destroying every living thing except Noah and his family and the animals he was able to cram onto the ark – well, it’s hard to imagine something more frightening than that.
But at the end of the story, it almost sounds like God has some second thoughts about the flood – or, if not second thoughts then at least God promises never to do something like this again – and God seals this promise – this covenant – with a rainbow across the sky.
Just like in the story of Jonah, when he was disgorged from the big fish and given an opportunity to go to Nineveh and just like when the people of Nineveh repent and God decides not to destroy the city, God is revealed to be the God of Second Chances.
God is the God of Second Chances.
But why?
I mean, let’s face it, if you or I were God we would’ve given up on us long ago, turned our attention to some other planet, some other more obedient species with a better track record of love and generosity and forgiveness.
If you or I were God we would’ve given up long ago on a world where sick and addicted people are camped out on the streets of the wealthiest country on earth – a world where we can’t even have a Super Bowl parade without some angry and armed person opening fire – a world where a brutal dictator coldly disposes of his opponents without guilt or fear – a world filled with our less dramatic but still destructive cruelties and dishonesties
It would seem that we have shown God who we are, over and over.
But maybe that’s not true.

I’ve mentioned to you before that one of my spiritual heroes is Thomas Merton, the 20th Century monk and writer.
Thomas Merton spent a lot of time thinking and writing about what he called our real and false selves.
Merton wrote, “Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self. This is the man I want to be but who cannot exist. Because God does not know anything about him. And to be unknown of God is altogether too much privacy.”
Our false self is the person we present to the world – the mask we wear to get along in this messed up world we have created.
The false self thinks it can be satisfied with money, power, prestige, or just security – and yet they are all illusions.
The false self uses others for our own benefit or pleasure.
The false self is never truly at rest, at peace.
And so, as Thomas Merton, wrote, God doesn’t have anything to do with our false self.
But God knows our real self – the real self that is such a great mystery that we may not even know it ourselves.
But when we look at Jesus – the Ultimate Second Chance given to us by God – we see what’s real.
When we look at Jesus, we see what God is really like and we see what we are really like, too.
In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark, we again heard the story of Jesus’ baptism – this one-on-one encounter between God the Father and Jesus the Son, the Beloved with whom God is well pleased.
Our real self, beloved by God.
And immediately after Jesus’ baptism, we’re told that the Spirit cast Jesus into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan. 
I like that Mark doesn’t tell us the exact nature of the temptations because that means we can fill in the blanks and think of our own temptations, our own weak spots, and know that Jesus can resist them.
With God’s help, our real self can resist our temptations – and live the lives of love that God has always intended for us.

So this is our task, especially during Lent.
With God’s help, we face our sinfulness and repent.
With God’s help, we recognize that the stuff we spend so much time, energy and money chasing, will never really satisfy us.
With God’s help, we look more closely at Jesus and see who God really is.
With God’s help, we look more closely at Jesus and see who we really are.

If you were here last week, you may remember that in my sermon I talked about my recent trip to San Francisco, which happened to coincide with the fierce rainstorms that swamped much of the California coast.
The worst of it was on Sunday when I made a memorable trip up and down “the mountain" to Grace Cathedral.
The next day, Monday, the storm had subsided.
I took an early morning walk down to the Bay where I was greeted with the most beautiful rainbow, soaring across the vast, open sky.
There weren’t too many people out yet but most of us there, including me, pulled out our phones and tried to photograph the rainbow’s beauty, its wide embrace.
No matter the storms of our life, no matter our sins and failures, no matter how we get fooled by our false self, God has known from the start who we really are.
And so, long after we might have given up on us, God promises to be – continues to be - the God of Second Chances.
Amen.
 

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Abounding In Steadfast Love



St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
February 14, 2024

Ash Wednesday
Joel 2:L1-2, 12-17
Psalm 103
2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10
Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Abounding In Steadfast Love

So the calendar has been playing some tricks on us lately.
You may remember that just a month and a half ago the Fourth Sunday of Advent was also Christmas Eve, a liturgical mash-up that required some flexibility and a quick turnaround here in church.  
And now today, Ash Wednesday, the start of the holy season of Lent… is also Valentine’s Day.
Of course, this calendar collision hasn’t required us to change our plans here in church but it has unleashed some online church humor.
Maybe you’ve seen some of the memes that have been floating around the Internet:
My favorite is the one that shows one of those little candy hearts that usually have sweet messages like “Be Mine” or “I luv U,” but this one says “Remember U R Dust.”
And then at the bottom of the meme there’s this little reminder: “You can’t spell Valentine without Lent.”
Which, you know, is actually true.
I’m usually not a fan of church humor but these have been fun, and, who knows, maybe they’ve helped to remind some people about Ash Wednesday.
And, you know, today’s calendar mash-up does remind us of a great truth.
None of what we are doing here today makes any sense without love.
I’m guessing that you don’t need me to tell you that we are going to die some day.
But we do need to remember and celebrate God’s love for us.
In today’s opening prayer, I said that God hates nothing that God has made.
That’s accurate, as far as it goes, but the truth is way better than that.
As the Prophet Joel wrote long ago, God is “abounding in steadfast love.”
God is abounding in steadfast love – that’s why God came among us in and through Jesus.
Unfortunately, we often reject God’s love.
We turn away from God’s love when we’re not loving - when we judge other people – when we refuse to share what we think is ours – when we are less than faithful in prayer and worship – when we treat people as things to use for our benefit or pleasure - when we think there is such a thing as “us” and “them” when with God it’s always just “us.”
It’s hard to face our sins.
It’s frightening to look at our mortality.
But God is abounding in steadfast love, so we are never rejected and abandoned, no matter what we do or don’t do.
God is abounding in steadfast love, always inviting us, urging us, to turn around, to come back, to live and love as we were always meant to live and love.
May we all have a holy and love-filled Lent, trusting in, and returning to, the God who abounds in steadfast love.
Amen. 

Sunday, February 11, 2024

Sacred Ground




St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
February 11, 2024

Year B: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany
2 Kings 2:1-12
Psalm 50:1-6
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Mark 9:2-9

Sacred Ground

Many of you know that I took some vacation time last week. I was out in San Francisco for a few days, just in time for the torrential rains – the so-called “atmospheric river” - that soaked the California coast.
The worst of the rain hit San Francisco last Sunday.
That morning, I woke up to the pouring rain and the howling wind. I reconsidered my plan to walk up to Grace Cathedral – the grand Episcopal church that sits at the top of swanky Nob Hill.
I thought about what it would be like to walk up the steep hill to the Cathedral, certain that my flimsy umbrella would be no match for this fierce storm.
I imagined finally reaching the cathedral, soaked, chilled, and exhausted.
I also thought, I mean, I go to church all the time – so maybe I could sit out this one Sunday.
But then I thought of you, how so many of you manage to get here even when the weather isn’t so great, even when it might be tempting to just stay in bed, to roll back over and get more sleep, or just take some time for yourself, maybe pouring a leisurely second cup of coffee.
So, I prepared for the storm as best I could and ventured out.
As it happened, the storm let up a bit as I huffed and puffed up California Street – and it felt good to reach Grace Cathedral, to once again step onto that sacred ground - to enter that holy place – to take in its vastness and early morning quiet.
The service was beautiful – the congregation welcoming and seemingly happy to be there, despite the weather.
I had the rare-for-me experience of being a person in the pew – or the chair, actually – totally anonymous and not having to worry about what I was going to say or do next.
By the end of the service I had just about forgotten about the storm outside.
But when I reached the cathedral doors, the wind was whipping around the top of Nob Hill, the rain was coming down in great sheets, and I could plainly see why they call it an “atmospheric river.”
A bunch of us waited in the cathedral vestibule, looking out nervously for any sign of let up, checking the weather app on our phones to get the latest forecast.
But finally, one by one we faced reality, zipping our jackets and pulling up hoods, opening our umbrellas, stepping out into the raging storm, getting on with our lives, leaving the safety and serenity of the cathedral and making our way down the hill.

And now here it is a week later and I’m back on our holy hill, on sacred ground, with all of you.
It’s the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before the start of Lent on Ash Wednesday.
And, as we do on this day every year, today’s gospel lesson takes us up yet another holy hill, to sacred ground.
We heard the story of the Transfiguration as told by the Gospel of Mark.
Jesus and his “inner circle” of disciples – Peter, James, and John, head up the mountain for some time away, away from all those people hunting for Jesus, hungry for his teaching, begging for his healing.
While they’re up on the mountain, Jesus is transformed before their eyes – his clothes whiter than any white – and he is joined by Elijah and Moses, two towering figures of Israel’s past.
What does one say or do in response to such a vision?
Well, Peter makes the totally reasonable suggestion of building dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Maybe he’s thinking, let’s try to hold onto this moment for as long as we can.
No sooner does Peter propose this capital project then a cloud overshadows them all and the voice from heaven declares,
“This is my Son, the beloved, listen to him!”
And then, after the voice grows silent and the cloud and Elijah and Moses vanish, it’s time for Jesus to head down the mountain and face all that awaits them: the Cross, the Tomb, and New Life.
But before we move on, I’d like to circle back to Peter and his mountaintop building project.
When Peter proposed the dwelling places for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, he was probably recalling the exodus of his Israelite ancestors from Egypt, when God would meet with Moses in what was called the “tent of meeting.”
Up on the mountain, Peter recognized that God had come among God’s people once again, and so it seemed right that some kind of shelter should be constructed on this sacred ground.
I think Peter should get half-credit for this.
He’s not wrong but the truth is even more amazing than he can yet grasp.
In and through Jesus, God has come among us again – come among us as one of us.
But Jesus sanctifies much more than just a piece of mountaintop real estate.
Jesus, God’s Son, makes holy the parts of the world that are obviously beautiful like Grace Cathedral on Nob Hill in San Francisco and St. Thomas’ Church here on our little hill above Garrison Forest.
But Jesus doesn’t just stay up on the mountain.
No, Jesus, comes down the mountain, down into the depths and the mess, down into the storms of life, making holy the parts of the world – the parts of our lives - that might not seem beautiful at all – the places of suffering, fear, and death.

I’ve been fortunate to visit San Francisco a bunch of times, and over the years, I’ve discovered places I like to go each time, different restaurants and parks and walking routes.
But when I planned this trip, I decided I wanted to see and do some things that I hadn’t seen and done before.
So, I attended a beautiful concert by the San Francisco Symphony.
And I also visited the Tenderloin Museum.
If you know San Francisco, you may know that the Tenderloin has long been the city’s Skid Row – the neighborhood where the poor and the addicted live, either in Single Room Occupancy hotels or just out on the sidewalks.
Frankly, it’s one neighborhood that I’ve always avoided.
After all, I was on vacation – and I certainly don’t have to travel across the country to witness poverty and despair.
But I was intrigued by the Tenderloin Museum, interested to learn more about this seemingly God-forsaken neighborhood.
Of course, to get to the museum, I had to walk the streets of the Tenderloin and, while I wasn’t afraid, I was certainly on alert and it was painfully sad to see so many people camped out on the sidewalk, imprisoned by illness, by addiction.
The museum itself, however, is a bright, clean, modern space.
I was the only visitor at the time.
It was so quiet in there – even prayerful.
Making my way around the exhibits, I learned about the neighborhood’s history, how it had long been home to oppressed and marginalized groups – waves of newly arrived immigrants, gay and transgender people – people who fought for their rights, doing the best they could for themselves and their neighborhood.
And the museum had information about some of the Christian congregations and organizations that have stuck it out in that challenging soil.
Sure enough, Jesus is in the Tenderloin, too, making it sacred ground.
There’s Glide Memorial Church, a formerly Methodist church that has long thrown open its doors to the poor and the hurting and advocated for their well-being.
And there is St. Anthony’s Mission.
Back in 1950, a Franciscan priest named Father Alfred Boedekker opened St. Anthony’s Dining Room. On the first day he expected to serve 150 meals and ended up serving 400. And they’ve been at it ever since, just like our own Paul’s Place, gradually expanding their menu of services, shining the Light of Christ on a place long neglected – a place not God-forsaken at all, ground made sacred by Jesus Christ the Son of God.

Since Lent begins on Wednesday, you may have been making plans for what to give up or to take on during that holy season.
After my San Francisco experience, after my trip up and down the mountain, I’m going to ask God to remind me that God has come among us in Jesus Christ, who has made the whole earth – from swanky Nob Hill to the suffering Tenderloin – has made all of it - sacred ground.
Amen.