Imperfect People, Imperfect Prayers, Merciful God

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 26, 2025

Year C, Proper 25: The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

Joel 2:23-32

Psalm 65

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

Luke 18:9-14

Imperfect People, Imperfect Prayers, Merciful God

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we hear a parable about two men praying in the Jerusalem Temple.

One is a Pharisee.

The gospels almost always depict the Pharisees in a negative light, but from other ancient sources we know that the Pharisees were held in high regard, respected for their holiness and goodness.

And the other man in the parable, the other man praying in the Temple, was a tax collector.

Now, since most people don’t enjoy paying taxes, tax collectors, past and present, are usually not the most popular people in town.

But tax collectors in first century Israel we’re particularly despised because they were Jews who were working for the Romans and their allies who occupied and oppressed Israel.

Tax collectors were seen as traitors to their own people.

So, it probably took some courage for this tax collector to enter the Temple, knowing that the people around him were likely to judge him harshly.

And, sure enough, you heard the very judgy prayer of the Pharisee.

Before introducing the parable, Luke tips us off on what he thinks is the parable’s meaning, its purpose:

“Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”

We’re not told just who those self-righteous and judgmental people might be, but we know the type, don’t we?

And, who knows, maybe we’ve even been the type!

Anyway, you heard the prayers offered by these two men.

The Pharisee thanks God that he’s not like all these awful sinners, especially that he’s not like this tax collector – and then he rattles off all his good deeds.

And, meanwhile, the tax collector, standing off by himself, eyes downcast, simply prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

Jesus concludes this tale by saying: “I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

So, the moral of the story seems clear, right?

But…there is another possibility.

The word translated as “rather than” could also be translated as “alongside.”

So, try this on for size:

“I tell you, this man went down to his home justified alongside the other…”

I don’t know if that’s the more correct translation, but I think it points to an important truth:

Both the Pharisee and the tax collector are imperfect.

And their prayers are imperfect, too.

The Pharisee is tooting his own horn and judging the tax collector, which doesn’t seem like the kind of prayer that God desires.

And the tax collector, yes, his prayer is humble but there’s no repentance, is there? There’s no turning away from his wrongdoing.

In fact, after he was done praying in the Temple, the tax collector probably went right back to work, back to working for the oppressors of his own people.

And yet.

And yet, God is loving and merciful to these two imperfect people with their imperfect prayers.

Just as God is loving and merciful to all of us imperfect people with our imperfect prayers.

And since God is loving and merciful to us - most especially through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus – since God is loving and merciful to us - we should be loving and merciful, too.

It’s God’s love and mercy to us that inspires us to do the outreach work that we do here at St. Thomas’:

Feeding the hungry.

Teaching the children.

Welcoming the stranger.

We walk alongside one another, all of us imperfect people with our imperfect prayers, we walk alongside one another, as I like to imagine the Pharisee and the tax collector did as they left the Temple, both of them, all of us, loved by our most merciful God.

Amen.

Lamentation and Faith

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 5, 2025

Year C, Proper 22: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Lamentations 1:1-6

Psalm 137

2 Timothy 1:1-14

Luke 17:5-10

Lamentation and Faith

Recently, someone told me that he had just finished reading the entire Bible, from cover to cover.

Have any of you ever done that?

It’s a pretty impressive achievement, right?

It’s an impressive achievement, first of all, because the Bible is a very long book.

And it’s also an impressive achievement because the Bible really isn’t even a book – it’s a library - it’s a collection of different books – all of them inspired by God, written over a long stretch of time, written by lots of different people in many different historical moments.

And, no surprise, the books of the Bible include lots of different genres:

Just for starters, there’s history and law and prophecy and poetry.

And, of course, the Bible includes a wide range of human experiences and emotions.

There are parts of the Bible that are amazingly beautiful, inspiring, encouraging, and uplifting.

There are parts of the Bible that are downright puzzling, parts that leave us scratching our heads wondering, “How did that get into the Bible?”

And there are parts of the Bible that express what we might call our more shadowy emotions and experiences: fear, grief, rage, and even the desire for revenge.

We don’t often hear those parts of the Bible here on Sundays, but we did hear them today, didn’t we?

Our first reading from the Book of Lamentations begins with a heartbreakingly beautiful line:

“How lonely sits the city that was once full of people!”

And the Psalms alone include the range of human emotions and experiences. Sure there is much praise of God but turn to almost any page and you’re likely to hear the Psalmist crying out to God, pleading something like:

Hey, where are you?!?

Why are you letting this terrible stuff happen to us?

Come down here and fix this!

And then there’s the last verses of Psalm 137 that we read today. Some would argue that we shouldn’t ever say these words out loud in church – we shouldn’t sing this ugly song of revenge, salivating at the idea of Babylon’s children getting dashed against the rock.

Maybe so, but we’ve probably all wished bad things to happen to people we consider not very good.

Like all Jews of his time, Jesus knew and prayed the psalms, so it’s no surprise that as he hung on the cross in agony, Jesus cries out to the Father by quoting Psalm 22:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Hard for us to hear, but very real.

Now, obviously, if lament, fear, grief and the desire for revenge were the end of the story, there would not be much point in us getting together here every Sunday.

But that’s not the end of the story.

I’m told that my predecessor Bill Baxter used to say that “we are an Easter people living in a Good Friday world.”

And that is exactly right.

There are plenty of troubles all around us, there is much to lament, but suffering, fear, hate, despair, and death do not get the last word.

From the cross, Jesus quoted the opening of Psalm 22, but listen to the hopeful conclusion to Psalm 22:

“My soul shall live for him; my descendants shall serve him; they shall be known as the Lord’s for ever. They shall come and make known to a people yet unborn the saving deeds that he has done.”

Easter people in a Good Friday world.

Lamentation, yes, but also faith.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus says something familiar but also very important about faith – that we just need a little bit – just a mustard seed of faith – to do amazing things.

And when Jesus speaks about “faith” I don’t think he’s talking so much about agreeing with certain propositions – I don’t think he has in mind something like nodding along to the Nicene Creed which we will stand and say in a few minutes.

No, I think Jesus means faith as a movement of the heart, faith as trust.

If we have even just a little bit of trust – just a mustard seed of trust – we can do amazing things, with God’s help.

And, even better, when we gather together all our little mustard seeds of faith, as we do here all the time, well, then truly extraordinary things are possible.

Just look through the pages of our St. Thomas’ “magazine.”

As most of you know, yesterday we had our second annual Jubilee Reception.

Sue and I – and my parents – were delighted to welcome to the Rectory so many parishioners who have been part of St. Thomas’ story for fifty years or more – in some cases, way more years than fifty.

It said on our sheet cake – yes, of course there was cake – it said on our sheet cake: “Faithfulness and Dedication.”

And, as I looked around the house at all of those wonderful people, I thought about the hundreds of years of faithfulness and dedication represented in the rectory dining room and living room and out on the porch.

Yes, everyone there has suffered and lamented at different times of their lives, and yet, with maybe just a mustard seed of faith, they – you – just kept going, teaching Sunday School, singing in the choir, reading lessons and prayers, providing beautiful flowers for the altar and shining all that brass.

With maybe just a mustard seed-sized amount of trust, they – you – just kept going, serving on the vestry, caring for our buildings and grounds, feeding the hungry, visiting the sick, and searching for a new rector or two or three.

With maybe just a mustard seed of faith, they – you – have just kept going.

Easter people in a Good Friday world.

Faithfulness and dedication.

Yes, we can and should lament the many troubles of our lives, our land, and our world, but we can also hold on to that little mustard seed of faith – nurturing and growing that little gift of trust by gathering together here with everybody else with their seeds, and together, together, doing what we ought to do, doing truly amazing things.

Yes, together, we lament.

But also, with God’s help, together, we remain faithful.

Amen.

Beatitude People

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 28, 2025

Year C, Proper 21: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15

Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

Beatitude People

If you were here two weeks ago, you may remember that I shared a little bit about Sister June Favata, a Sister of Charity who faithfully served St. Vincent Academy in Newark, New Jersey for decades, and where I taught history back in the 1990’s.

A week and a half ago, I drove up to New Jersey for Sister June’s funeral – something I probably would not have done if Rev. Amelia were not here – so, yet another reason I’m thankful for her presence here with us.

I’m very glad that I went to June’s funeral because it turned out to be one of the most intensely emotional experiences of my life.

Part of it was being in a church full of people whose lives – like mine - had been touched, often in profound ways, by this extraordinary person.

And part of it was seeing people – former students and colleagues – who, in some cases, I hadn’t seen in something like 30 years – although it was a funeral, it was also a joyful reunion.

During the service, several people offered moving and sometimes funny remembrances of June, taking me back all those years to when I taught at St. Vincent’s.

And the priest who gave the homily found the perfect words to describe June.

He called her a “Beatitude Sister.”

I love that.

A “Beatitude Sister.”

The Beatitudes are Jesus’ vision of the downside-up kingdom of God.

And in the downside-up vision of the Beatitudes, Jesus declares that it’s the poor and the hungry and the mournful and the hated who are the blessed ones.

And that priest was right: June really was a “Beatitude Sister” because she spent her life making Jesus’ downside-up vision a reality.

Yes, for her everyone counted, everybody mattered, but June focused her tremendous energy on the poor and the suffering, not because they were better than anybody else but because, well, they were poor and suffering.

I’ll never forget – and will always be thankful for June the “Beatitude Sister.”

Some of you may remember that in the Gospel of Luke, right after Jesus describes all those who are blessed in the kingdom, he continues by warning those who have already been blessed, those who have already received their reward, those currently on top who will be brought low.

Jesus says, “Woe to you who are rich, woe to you who are well fed and laughing, woe to you who are highly respected.”

Woe, woe, woe.

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear these “blessings” and “woes” in parable form – it’s a parable much easier to understand than the parable of the dishonest manager that we heard last week – this parable is definitely much easier to understand, but maybe harder for us to hear.

Just like the “woes,” The Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is hard for us to hear because by the standards of history and the world, we are rich.

Oh, we may not feel rich when we look at our supermarket receipt or when we get our BGE bill, but we are rich.

So, let’s take a look at this challenging parable:

The rich man, who goes unnamed, is almost a comical stereotype of a really wealthy person – he’s wearing the best clothes, and he is feasting – he is “feasting sumptuously every day.”

Notice that there is no mention of other people at his feast. Surely there were slaves preparing all this food and laundering the fine clothes, but maybe this rich man is all alone amid his wealth.

Meanwhile, right outside at the rich man’s gate there is a poor man – a desperately poor man who is named Lazarus - Lazarus, sick and hungry, desperately hoping for a just few scraps from the rich man’s table, a few scraps which are never shared.

It’s quite a pathetic scene, with only the dogs tending to Lazarus’ sores.

Well, you just heard the parable, so you know there has been a great reversal of fortune: Lazarus is in heaven, in the “bosom of Abraham,” while the rich man is in agony in hell.

Blessed are you, Lazarus.

Woe to you, rich man.

There are a couple of clues that it’s not just his great wealth that has landed him in hell. This rich man was not a good man.

We might try to excuse his neglect of Lazarus. Maybe the rich man didn’t go out much. Maybe, somehow, he didn’t know that Lazarus was at his gate.

The only problem with that theory is that the rich man knows Lazarus’ name, which might be the most disturbing moment in the parable.

Not only does the rich man know Lazarus’ name, but in the hereafter, he even tries to put him to work, asking Abraham to send Lazarus down to hell with some water to quench his thirst.

But, no, there is no traveling between the land of blessing and the land of woe.

But the rich man, he’s nothing if not persistent, telling Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers, to warn them to change their ways before it’s too late and they end up in the fires of hell, too.

I guess we can give the rich man a little bit of credit for caring about a few other people, caring about his five brothers, at least.

But Abraham says, no, because the brothers, just like the rich man, just like all of us, we already know how we are meant to live – we know the choices that bring life and the choices that bring death – we know the choices that lead to heaven and the choices that lead to hell.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a 14th century mystic named Catherine of Siena. 

      Catherine wrote:

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

Heaven is not only something we will experience when we die, not only a gift we will enjoy for all eternity with God, but, if we make the right choices, if we place our trust in Jesus, if we follow the way of Jesus, heaven begins now.

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

And perhaps it should go without saying that all the way to hell is hell.

Today there are, of course, lots of people like the rich man in today’s parable - accumulating so much, sharing little or nothing with the “Lazaruses” of the world, always wanting more but somehow, way more than enough is still never enough, always hungry, never satisfied, never joyful.

In the words of today’s lesson from First Timothy: “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.”

A bad way to go through life.

All the way to hell really is hell.

But when we are “Beatitude People” like Sister June, we experience heaven right here and now.

Just one example:

Last Saturday, the Afghan family living in Gilead House 2 invited some of us over to the house for a thank you lunch. I hadn’t been there since we dedicated the house a few months ago, so it was just wonderful to see how they have transformed it into a home, into their home, and so beautiful to experience their warm hospitality expressed through carefully prepared and very delicious food.

I’m pretty sure that’s what heaven is like: an abundant feast shared among people from all over, strangers who have become beloved friends.

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

Sister June’s life and death and her beautiful funeral have been a powerful reminder for me – a reminder to devote my life to my particular corner of God’s kingdom, to be, with God’s help, a “Beatitude Person,” doing my best to make real Jesus’ downside-up vision of the kingdom of God.

With God’s help, may we all be “Beatitude People,” right here and now, all of us, together, all the way to heaven.

Amen.

Everybody Counts, Everyone Matters

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills

September 14, 2025

Year C, Proper 19: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28

Psalm 14

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

Everybody Counts, Everyone Matters

Last week, Sister June Favata died.

June was a Sister of Charity who devoted nearly her entire adult life, nearly her entire vocation, to St. Vincent Academy, an all-girls high school located in the center of Newark, New Jersey.

She arrived as a young nun in 1969 and played a key role in leading, sustaining, and developing the school until her health failed, just a year or two ago.

Thirty-three years ago, I applied for a position at St. Vincent’s as a history teacher. Fortunately, they called me in for an interview and so, on a memorable day, I rode the PATH train from Jersey City to Newark and then boarded a bus to take me from Penn Station to the school.

Back then, I didn’t really know Newark, so I was startled, even a little frightened, when the bus left the business district and moved deeper into the city where there were blocks and blocks of rubble, with the occasional lone building standing – I saw a city still scarred by the uprising that had occurred back in 1967 and the following years of disinvestment and abandonment.

Seeing all that devastation, I confess that I wondered just what I was getting myself into?

But I really needed a job, so I kept going.

Finally, the bus rounded a low hill and there was St. Vincent’s, a red brick 19th century building standing tall amid the empty lots and various efforts at urban renewal.

I spent most of that day with Sister June in her office.

She told me the story of St. Vincent’s, how, back in the late 60’s and early 70’s when lots of Newark institutions were closing or moving out to the suburbs, the Sisters of Charity and their co-workers made the decision to stay, and to keep on educating the girls of Newark and the surrounding towns.

Now, all these years later, that day is a bit of a blur, but I do remember two things that June told me.

One was that she saw the mission of the school in profoundly Christian terms. Yes, we were teaching these girls our subject content and life skills but really, we were playing our part in what she called “the ongoing redemption of the world” – that by teaching and nurturing these girls, we were continuing the saving work of Jesus right there in Newark.

And second, she was frank that this might sometimes be a hard job and, like at any school, occasionally my students might disappoint, frustrate, or even anger me, but I must always remember that each one of them was absolutely loved and cherished by someone – a parent, a grandparent, an older sibling – someone who loved them so much that they made the sacrifice to send them to St. Vincent’s.

And then she added, that even if that were not the case, each one of these girls was unconditionally loved by God.

And so, I should do likewise.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about the Baptismal Covenant and, as a Roman Catholic nun, I’m sure June didn’t either, but she certainly understood and lived the call to seek and serve Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as our self, to respect the dignity of every human being. 

        I wish I could say that I loved unconditionally during my five years teaching at St. Vincent’s (yes, I got the job!), or at any other time of my life, but I haven’t forgotten Sister June’s words, her teaching and example, which really was the teaching and example of Jesus.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus offers two parables, two parables that share a simple and obvious structure: lost, found, rejoicing.

And Jesus teaches us that the rejoicing of the shepherd and the woman is kind of like the rejoicing in heaven when a sinner repents.

Amen. 

But, as I’ve sat with these parables during this tragic and disturbing week, a week when our need for repentance is more obvious than ever, a week when it feels like Jeremiah’s grim prophecy in today’s first lesson is being fulfilled, as I’ve sat with these parables, I keep thinking how both stories are… a little over the top.

Jesus begins by asking, “which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost…?

Well, I’m pretty sure the correct answer is nobody – no shepherd would do that!

And the woman, sure, I get looking for the missing coin but then, after you find it, inviting your friends over for a party to celebrate?

I’m not the most social guy, but that seems like overdoing it.

But, with our summer reading fresh in my mind, and during this terrible week, this is the message I kept hearing in my heart:

Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

And so, yes, that one sheep is so important that the shepherd risks a whole lot to find it and save it – and that coin matters so much that, yeah, when you find it, you throw a party.

Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

This is not the way of the world, but it is God’s way.

For our over-the-top God, everybody counts.

And so, as Sister June and so many holy Christians down through the ages have understood and embodied, everyone, every precious human being, should matter to us.

So, Charlie Kirk and his grieving family, they count.

And the two students injured in the shooting at Evergreen High School in Colorado, they matter.

        And Iryna Zarutska, stabbed to death on the Charlotte light rail, she counts.

And Minnesota legislator Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark who, along with their dog, were shot and killed in their home, they matter.

And Fletcher Merkel and Harper Moyski, the two children killed at Annunciation Church in Minneapolis, they count.

And Republicans, Democrats, Independents, and the many people who want no part of any of it, they matter.

And people whose ancestors arrived on the Mayflower and our Afghan friends, they count.

And people who are poor, rich, or somewhere in-between, they matter.

And people who are white, black, brown or any color, of any culture or creed, they count.

And people who are straight, gay, transgender, they matter.

And people we love and like and agree with and people we dislike or don’t understand or even fear, they count.

And hardest of all, the twisted, broken, violent people, the people poisoned by the internet, the people who say and do so many terrible things, yes, even they matter.

For God, everybody counts.

And so, for us, everyone must matter, too.

This is hard, believe me, I know, but we Christians are an Easter people.

We know – we know – that hate, suffering, and death do not get the last word.

So, let me tell you where I am finding Easter hope.

First, right here with all of you.

Last week was Renewal Sunday, but the truth is that our renewal is ongoing, the work of a lifetime.

We’re not perfect, but, week after week, there is so much faithfulness and devotion here, so much sacrifice, a warm welcome offered to everyone, an increasingly diverse group of people praying and serving together, loving one another.

We are playing our part in the ongoing redemption of the world.

This place matters – and you, all of you, count.

And reflecting on Sister June’s life and legacy has given me Easter hope, too.

Today, if you were to take that same bus ride through Newark, things look a lot different than they did 33 years ago.

Where there were rubble-strewn lots, now there are townhomes with carefully tended little patches of grass, there are new businesses and an expanded community college.

And when you round the low hill, St. Vincent’s still stands tall, but beside the old red brick building, there is a newer structure, one that was just a dream when I taught there, a building with state-of-the-art labs, a beautiful gym, and more.

And thanks to Facebook, I’ve managed to keep up with some of the girls I taught long ago – the girls who June taught me were treasured by their families, loved unconditionally by God.

And those girls are now women in their 40’s, working as doctors, teachers, nurses, lawyers, businesswomen, scientists – many of them are now moms raising their own families, with some sending their daughters to St. Vincent’s.

This is the power of God’s love, shared in and through people like Sister June, people like any of us.

      This is the ongoing redemption of the world.

      So, with the help of our over-the-top God, as we go forward together, may we always remember:

      Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

Amen.

Our Discipleship Team

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 7, 2025

Year C, Proper18: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 18:1-11

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

Philemon 1-21

Luke 14:25-33

Our Discipleship Team

One of the many good things happening at St. Thomas’ is that we have a steady stream of newcomers checking out our church, both online and in person, and then often jumping in as members.

In fact, over just the past couple of weeks I’ve met with some of these wonderful people, sitting in my office talking about the church and getting to know each other a little bit, telling at least some of our stories.

How did we get here?

This means that I also share some of my story – the story I’ve shared with you over these past four years – the story that, by now, might be getting a little stale for you.

But it’s all brand-new for the newcomers!

And, when I get to the part of my story about moving here from Jersey City, very often people will say something like, “Oh that must have been a big change,” or they’ll ask, “Was that a tough transition?”

Honestly, not really.

Because one thing I’ve learned over the years is that people are people.

Yes, we’re all individuals with our own strengths, weaknesses, particular challenges, quirks but we really are way more alike than different.

So, in every church where I’ve served, people wrestle with their faith, want to learn more, want their lives to have meaning and purpose, want the church to help them be their best selves.

Everywhere I’ve been, parents want their children to thrive, adult children care for their aging parents, new relationships are built and some relationships fall apart, some ministries thrive while others never catch on or simply reach the end of the line, people disagree about issues both big and small, there are births, illnesses, and deaths, baptisms, weddings, and funerals.

We’re more alike than different.

That said, there are a few things here that have taken some getting used to.

Probably the biggest one is that I have to drive everywhere – I do miss just being able to walk down the street!

        But really, that is a very small sacrifice for living in the beautiful home you’ve provided for us, surrounded by our own personal park.

        And the other thing that’s taken some getting used to is that sports sure are a big deal here.

        The Ravens home games have a real effect on our church attendance, so much so that during the season we check the schedule before planning any major church events.

        After last night’s unbelievable bottom-of-the-ninth, two outs,  come-from-behind Orioles win, I’m feeling kind of sports crazed myself, but mostly I’m thinking of school sports, which seems a little more intense, more all-consuming, than other places I’ve been.

        But, although this wasn’t really my experience growing up – I was never much of an athlete, a big surprise, I know – I think I understand the appeal, I get why kids put so much of their time and energy into sports, why parents and grandparents give up so much time for practices and games, all those trips in the minivan.

        There’s fun, of course, and there’s the satisfaction of setting goals and working hard to achieve them.

        Learning good sportsmanship is important, too, how to be a gracious winner and not a sore loser.

        And there’s the importance of working as a team – teamwork – finding ways for everybody to contribute their gifts, to hold up one another, knowing that victory – success – is not possible on our own.

        I know that not everyone here is into sports – and I may be stretching things a little bit – but I wonder if your “sportiness” is one of the reasons we have such a great team here at St. Thomas’ – maybe the lessons you’ve learned on the field or on the court have helped to make St. Thomas’ such a great team.

        In describing the church, St. Paul uses the image of the body – just like the body needs all its parts to be working together in harmony – the same is true for the church, the Body of Christ.

        Sometimes, St. Paul and other early Christian writers also used athletic imagery to describe the Christian life. My favorite is from the Letter to the Hebrews:

        “Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us…”

        In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus teaches about the high demands, the high cost of discipleship.

        He uses exaggeration, hyperbole, to make his point. We’re not really called to hate the people we love the most, but we are called to put Christ, to put following Christ, above everyone and everything else. 

        When we place Christ first, we are able to love people even more fully and generously.

        But it’s not easy. 

        And in a few minutes, we’re all going to renew our Baptismal Covenant, saying words, again making the big promises that remind us what Christian discipleship looks like: seeking and serving Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as our self.

        With each promise we make, we say “with God’s help.”

        But maybe should revise that a little.

        “With God’s help, and as a member of this team.”

        Discipleship is impossible without God’s help.

        And discipleship is impossible on our own.

        We can really only be Christians as members of a church, only as members of our discipleship team, a team where everyone is important and cherished, a team where we set big goals, where we all contribute our gifts, where we work for the ongoing renewal of the church, where we challenge each other to be better, where, together, we celebrate our successes and mourn our losses.

        For me, the greatest blessing of St. Thomas’ is the opportunity to be part of, to help lead, our discipleship team.

        It’s a team made up of many different teams – you might call them “special teams.”

        There are our officers – and in my short time here, you and I have been blessed with exceptional wardens – Tony, Jesse, Barritt, and Sana – along with the other officers and our vestry members, they have continued a long St. Thomas’ tradition of outstanding lay leaders.

        There’s our hardworking, devoted, and talented staff – every day it’s an honor and joy to work beside them.

        And there are all those other “special teams” – choir, acolytes, lay readers and chalicists, outreach, finance, handicrafters, Sunday School and preschool teachers, ushers, Green Team, Altar Guild, and on and on.

        At our Wednesday service – which is its own special team – we often talk about how blessed we are to be here, and we lament that there are so many people out there who don’t have what we have.

        It’s hard to lack community.

        And it’s impossible to be a Christian on your own.

        So, of course, we share what we have, getting the word out as best we can, welcoming everyone who walks over that well-worn threshold.

        Here, there are no try-outs and nobody ever gets cut.

        Here, there are no benchwarmers – everyone has an important position to play.

        Here, victory is loving more fully and giving more generously.

        Everyone is invited to be part of the discipleship team we call St. Thomas’.

        May God continue to bless the renewal of our hearts and the renewal of our team.

        Amen.

Open Invitation

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 31, 2025

Year C, Proper 17: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 2:4-13

Psalm 81:1, 10-16

Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Luke 14:1, 7-14

Open Invitation

By now, at least some of you have received in the mail a pastoral letter from me.

It’s not a very long letter, but it took me all summer to finally sit down and write it.

I prayed and thought about what I wanted to say to you during our time of turmoil.

I prayed and thought about how we can best be the church, how we can be faithful disciples of Jesus, in a time such as this.

It took me all summer to finally sit down and write partly because of good old-fashioned procrastination and partly because in this time of deep division I am committed to holding our church together as best I can, with God’s help.

And I also held off writing the letter because, as you have no doubt noticed, terrible things continue to happen, and I didn’t want my letter to be seen as a response to any one incident.

I wanted it to be a broader reflection.

Well, unfortunately, tragically, just about the time my letter went out, there was the heartbreaking incident at Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis – heartbreaking, infuriating, stomach-churning, every parent’s worst nightmare, but certainly not shocking.

 After all, we have been through this so many times before.

So many times, that, by now, we all know the script.

Prayers are offered, there’s some vague talk about mental health, and then we quickly move on to the next thing.

And we all know that this is going to continue to happen because in our country angry and sometimes unhinged people have no trouble getting their hands on military-style weapons and many of our leaders are too cowardly, corrupt, and cynical to do anything about it – and, let’s face it, many of us have grown so discouraged, numb, resigned to the grim fact that we will go on allowing human sacrifice, including even the sacrifice of the youngest, the most innocent, the most vulnerable, including the sacrifice of Fletcher Merkel, eight years old, and Harper Moyski, ten years old.

In this time of turmoil and tragedy, I wonder: where do we go from here?

Where do we go from here?

Well, for us, there is only one answer: we follow the way of Jesus.

And the way of Jesus is the way of love, compassion, mercy, and hospitality.

The way of Jesus is an open invitation, an open invitation to everyone, especially the people who have the least.

I love today’s gospel lesson: Jesus’ sabbath meal at the home of a top Pharisee.

It always makes me smile because at first Jesus sounds a little bit like Emily Post or Martha Stewart, teaching us how to behave at a wedding banquet – don’t take the place of honor because, you know, someone more distinguished might show up and won’t you be embarrassed when you have to give up your seat?

Yes, that would be very embarrassing – but, of course, Jesus isn’t talking about etiquette. 

        He’s teaching about humility, the recognition that getting the best seat in the house shouldn’t really matter to us, that all that I am and all that I have comes from God, and that is really all that I need.

And then Jesus gives some hard teaching to the host who had welcomed Jesus to his home (and by now was probably really regretting it!).

Jesus says, when you throw a luncheon or a dinner, don’t invite the people you know and like, don’t invite the people who can repay you, but invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” invite the people who can’t repay you.

Really, Jesus is saying to his Pharisee host, saying to all of us, that when you throw a party, make it like the heavenly banquet.

Make it like the heavenly banquet, where we will all be gathered, where our station in life won’t matter, where the money and the stuff we’ve accumulated won’t matter, where all that will matter is our faithfulness, where all that will matter is our love and generosity.

This gospel lesson always reminds me of a particularly challenging time in my life, a particularly challenging time for Sue and me.

        About 15 years ago, we made a big move from New Jersey to Gainesville, Florida.

I had been called to serve as the rector of St. Michael’s, a church in suburban Gainesville, and also to serve as the Episcopal chaplain at the University of Florida.

At the time, accepting these two jobs made a lot of sense. They brought together my two vocations: teacher and priest. Seemed perfect.

Well, it didn’t really work out and we ended up only staying for a year – basically, we were just too far from all our people. (Fortunately, Maryland is a more manageable distance.)

But, as is usually the case during hard times, during that Florida year, Sue and I learned a lot about ourselves.

        And we also met some truly amazing people, some very faithful Christians, some people who became much-loved friends. 

        Anyway, because we knew that the college kids were not likely to come to church on Sunday morning, we offered our service later in the day, I think it was 5:00.

        And because we knew that college kids might be more likely to come to church if there was a delicious home cooked meal involved, everyone was invited to stay after the service for a free supper prepared by parishioners from various local Episcopal churches.

        The parishioners loved feeding the students and the students loved breaking bread together.

        But, you know, when you offer a free meal, the word usually gets out, right?

        And so, in addition to the students, we also welcomed a kind of odd assortment of other people, homeless people and nearly homeless people, lonely people, people who just enjoyed sitting with others and engaging in conversation, and people who would inhale their food quickly and quietly and be on their way.

        And, many Sunday evenings, I remember looking around the room, hearing all the chatter and the clinking of silverware, seeing a homeless man sitting beside a graduate student, everyone welcome, everyone mostly getting along, no head table or anything like that, I remember seeing and hearing all of that and thinking, this is what the kingdom of God is like.

        It’s like a supper prepared for people we may not even know, shared with anyone who happens to show up – a supper where everyone is accepted as they are, where everyone is welcomed and fed.

        The author of the Letter to the Hebrews writes, “Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

        I know that isn’t some kind of fantasy, because I experienced it in Gainesville, and I experienced it in Jersey City at the community suppers we had there, and I experience it here at St. Thomas’, too, where we continue to invite everybody, where, even in a time of turmoil, we continue to welcome the stranger.

        I’ll conclude with another image from last week, infinitely more uplifting than where I began my sermon. 

        On Tuesday morning, I was driving to the office and as I passed Gilead House 2 where our Afghan family is living, I saw the dad standing with one of his daughters at the end of the driveway.

        The girl was dressed like any other elementary school student, with her backpack slung over her shoulders.

        As they were waiting, the yellow school bus approached.

        A simple, beautiful image, one repeated a million times across our country.

        But this girl, this family, who have been through so much, they are stepping into a new life, a new life made possible by God’s love, mercy, and hospitality, channeled through us.

        In our time of turmoil and tragedy, this is the way.

        This the way of Jesus.

        This is the way of open invitation. 

        Open invitation to the banquet, where the poor and the suffering, the people who cannot repay, get the best seats.

        Amen.

A Pastoral Letter

A Pastoral Letter from the Rector

Dear Parishioners,

Grace and peace to you.

I hope you have had a good summer, with at least some time for rest and refreshment, some opportunities for travel or to just enjoy the beauty that surrounds us in Maryland. Here at St. Thomas’, summer brought a slightly slower pace. But just slightly. We welcomed our wonderful new Assistant Rector, the Rev. Amelia Bello. We continued the much-loved tradition of hosting Paul’s Place Camp and welcomed a lovely Afghan family into a beautifully renovated “Gilead House 2.” We undertook several other important capital projects, including the repair of many monuments in the churchyard, library and parish hall roof repairs, and the installation of a new kitchen floor. We gathered to watch the film The Six Triple Eight, a fascinating and inspiring story of an all-Black, all-female postal unit during World War II. We also hosted an introduction to community organizing session, which was well-attended by parishioners and guests. And, of course, we continued to gather on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays to praise God and to pray for our own needs and the needs of others.

Unfortunately, while all this good and holy work has been underway at St. Thomas’, the troubles of our land and our world have continued to multiply. Bitter divisions and ruthless acts of violence at home. Unceasing war and unspeakable suffering in Ukraine, Gaza, and in so many other places. No doubt, you are well aware of the problems, challenges, and dangers we face. You also know that St. Thomas’ is a diverse community, welcoming people from different backgrounds, including people with varying experiences and points of view. So, I have been giving much prayer and thought to how we can best live together as Christians in a time such as this. As much as we might like to, we cannot bury our heads in the sand, tuning out the fear and suffering around us. But we also must offer a holy respite from the relentless news cycle, continuing to provide a place where we can all come together to pray, serve, and love, to remember that God loves us and will not let go of us, no matter what.

Before we begin a new program year on Renewal Sunday (September 7), I want to share what I see as the best ways forward for us.

First, perhaps more than ever, we are called to pray. We are called to pray on our own and we are called to pray together in church. Through prayer, we give God more space in our hearts, allowing God to grow closer to us, providing us with the strength, wisdom, and courage that we need. As Sam Shoemaker once said, “Prayer may not change things for you, but it sure changes you for things.” This is a great truth. I urge you to pray. And, in the months ahead, St. Thomas’ will offer more opportunities to learn about prayer and to pray together.

Second, while we cannot ignore what’s happening in Washington and around the world, I am convinced that we are particularly called to tend to our local Baltimore community. Fortunately, this work is already well underway as we continue to deepen our relationships with Owings Mills Elementary School, Owings Mills High School, and the Community Crisis Center. Through community organizing, we are beginning to meet more of our neighbors from other local institutions, learning from each other, and listening for ways that we might make life better for people in our neighborhoods. As a sign of these new friendships, we are planning to host an interfaith Thanksgiving service in November here at St. Thomas’. More on that, and much more, later.

Especially during these challenging times, it is a great joy to belong to our St. Thomas’ community and a profound privilege to serve as your Rector. May God continue to bless you all. And let’s continue to pray for each other.

Your Brother in Christ,

Tom