Our True Home

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 26, 2025

Year C: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

Our True Home

Let us pray.

God of love and peace, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you. Help us to remember the way to our true home. Show us the way back to you.

Amen. 

        Most of you know (because I’ve mentioned it a couple hundred times) that I grew up and lived most of my life in Jersey City, New Jersey, one of America’s great cities, a diverse and  densely populated place just across the Hudson River from New York City.

And, although I’m glad and thankful to be here with all of you, I don’t think you’ll be surprised that I do get homesick from time to time.

I miss having my family and friends close by.

I miss being able to walk down the street to our local restaurant or hopping on the PATH train and spending a few hours wandering around New York.

Of course, Jersey City isn’t that far away, so I do get back there a couple of times a year, which I’m always happy to do.

But, you know, these homecomings are strange.

Since I don’t live there anymore, I stay in a hotel – which is both shockingly expensive, and it’s also weird, disorienting, to feel like a tourist in my hometown.

And walking and driving around the city, it’s still very familiar but also changed – old buildings are gone and new, often very tall, buildings have arisen.

The city has changed.

And over my three and a half years away, during my time here with all of you, I’ve changed, too.

So now, for me, Jersey City is both home and not-home.

I got to thinking about all of this when I began reflecting on today’s gospel lesson:

Jesus’ return to his hometown, Nazareth.

You may recall that two weeks ago, we remembered Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan River.

Luke tells us that right after his baptism, while Jesus was praying, he saw the Spirit descend like a dove and he heard a voice from heaven say, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

Like us, Jesus was changed by his baptism, filled with the Spirit.

If Jesus didn’t know it before, he could now be certain of the Father’s love, God’s indissoluble and unbreakable love.

Luke tells us that after his baptism, Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness for his time of temptation and testing.

Satan gives it his best shot, but Spirit-filled Jesus resists.

As I mentioned two weeks ago, more than any particular satanic temptations, I think the biggest challenge for Jesus – and for all of us – was and is to remember – to remember our baptism - to remember God’s indissoluble and unbreakable love for us – to remember God’s love and grace during the hard and frightening times that we all face in our lives.

Jesus must have remembered the Father’s love – must have felt God’s love – and he survived – triumphed – in the wilderness.

No doubt, Jesus was changed by his baptism and by his days and nights in the wilderness.

And now, filled with Spirit, he began his ministry of teaching and healing, and the word about him began to spread all over, including back in Nazareth.

So, by the time Jesus returned to his hometown, there was a lot of anticipation and curiosity and maybe also confusion and doubt – could it really be Joseph and Mary’s son who was teaching like no one had ever heard before?

Could it really be Jesus – I mean, we’ve known him since he was a kid – could it really be Jesus who was healing all these people?

Well, today we heard the first part of Jesus’ homecoming.

Filled with the Spirit, Jesus goes to the synagogue and reads from the Prophet Isaiah, reading words that must have been familiar to his fellow Jews:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And then spirit-filled Jesus boldly tells his Nazareth family and neighbors, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

That day in the Nazareth synagogue, Jesus declared his mission – his mission to bring good news to people who get a lot of bad news, to liberate those in chains, to give people vision, to declare the dawn of a new day, a new age.

What a moment that must have been.

This year, we won’t get to hear what happened next, but you may remember that it doesn’t go well – in fact, it goes so badly that the crowd wanted to kill Jesus, forcing him to flee his home.

Or, maybe, what he used to think was his home.

The truth is that in his baptism and during his time in the wilderness, Jesus must have understood that his true home wasn’t Nazareth or any other place on earth.

His true home was God the Father.

And the same goes for us – if we’re open and paying attention, in our baptism and during our wilderness times we can recognize that for us our true home isn’t Owings Mills or Jersey City or the United States or whatever land we’ve come from.

No, our true home is God.

In a few minutes, I’ll have the great privilege of baptizing young Henry.

In his first six months of life, Henry has already been quite the Christian – his parents have brought him to church very often – yesterday he went on his first church trip to the National Museum of the American Indian – and let’s not forget, he was our Baby Jesus in this year’s Christmas Tableau.

Thanks to his faithful family, Henry’s Christian life is already underway.

But today, in the water of Baptism, God will make an indissoluble, unbreakable bond with Henry – and there is nothing that Henry or we could ever do or not do that would ever cause God to break that bond of love with Henry or with any of us.

There’s no force powerful enough to break God’s bond with us.

No force powerful enough to separate us from God, our true home.

And when we experience this – when we remember this - when we know this deep down in our hearts – then we can be brave – we can bravely use our God-given gifts out in the world.

There is no force powerful enough to separate us from our true home.

And when we experience this – when we know this – when we remember this – we can be brave and, with God’s help, we can live out our “servant church” mission which continues Jesus’ mission of love and liberation.

        Our mission is best summed up in two of the promises we make in the Baptismal Covenant – to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self – and to respect the dignity of every human being.

        I always think, I wish it didn’t say “all” and “every.”

        “Many” or even “Most?” Easy! I’m in. Sign me up right now!

        But all persons, every human being? That’s really hard. That’s only possible with God’s help.

        But this is our mission.

        We are called to love not only the people who are easy to love but also the people we don’t approve of, the people who drive us up the wall, and the people we don’t like or trust one bit. 

        All persons, every human being.

        We are called to love Republicans, Democrats, independents, and people who somehow pay no attention to politics or current events.

        All persons, every human being.

        We are called to love people whose ancestors sailed on the Mayflower, people whose ancestors were brought here in chains, the Native Americans some of us learned a lot about yesterday, and the people who have just arrived here, like our Afghan friends who are cherished by so many of us.

        All persons, every human being.

        We are called to love straight people, gay people, and transgender people.

        All persons, every human being.

        We are called, commanded, to love our neighbors as ourselves – all of them, every one.

        This is our Christian mission, a continuation of Jesus’ mission, a most challenging mission, a mission possible only with God’s help, only possible when we, the Body of Christ, stick together.

In our baptism, our restless hearts discover that our true home is God.

In the temptations and trials of life, we discover that our true home is God.

There’s no force powerful enough to break God’s bond with us.

No force powerful enough to drive us from our true home.

And when we know this and remember this, Henry and all of us can be brave, and live out our Christian mission of love and service.

Amen.

Church is a School of God’s Love

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 12, 2025

Year C: The First Sunday after the Epiphany – The Baptism of Our Lord

Isaiah 43:1-7

Psalm 29

Acts 8:14-17

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Church is a School of God’s Love

Last week, I met with several other Episcopal priests to talk about community organizing in Baltimore County.

Some of you know that community organizing is important to me. I was involved in community organizing back in Jersey City and I’ve been eager to do some of that work here – work that has already begun with our deepened relationship with Owings Mills Elementary School.

So, since community organizing obviously only happens if we partner with others, I was especially glad to attend this meeting with some of my colleagues.

But our meeting took an unexpected turn.

A community organizer who was at the meeting asked us priests a simple but actually kind of hard-to-answer question:

“What is church?”

“What is church now?”

Behind that question was the recognition that we’ve been through a lot these last few years:

We suffered through a global pandemic that sickened and killed countless people and upended our usual way of doing things everywhere, very much including here in church.

During the pandemic we quickly developed and have continued to offer online worship. This is surely a blessing. But are people who only “attend” our services virtually actually part of our community? How? What does that mean? What does that look like?

What is church now?

In our country over these last few years, we’ve faced bitter partisan divisions, losing much sense of common ground and leaving our political institutions wobbly and ineffective.

And then there are the frightening changes to our climate, the disasters that we have all witnessed, the terrors that some of our own parish families have endured, in just the last few days.

And, finally, we all know that, for all sorts of reasons, church has drifted from the center of people’s lives. Many churches have shrunk and closed. And that trend is likely to continue.

So, given all of that, what is church now?

Well, I’ll come back to that.

If you were here last week, you’ll remember that we heard the Epiphany story, the journey of the Magi to pay homage to the newborn King.

It’s a beautiful and magical story, but it’s also a story with some ominous shadows.

King Herod told the Magi that he also wanted to pay homage to the newborn king. That was a lie, of course. Herod was determined to eliminate this rival as soon as possible – so determined and so ruthless that he ordered the execution of all the children in Bethlehem.

And, as I reminded you last week, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus fled to Egypt to escape Herod’s murderous rampage.

Like so many others, the Holy Family became a refugee family.

Well, eventually, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus made their way home, back to Nazareth.

And, aside from the charming story of the twelve-year-old Jesus in the Temple, we know nothing about those Nazareth years, the decades of Jesus’ childhood, youth, and young adulthood.

We’re left wondering, did Mary and Joseph tell him the story? Did they tell him who he was?

Could people of Nazareth sense something about him – something special – something unique?

Or did he just live a normal life? Did he live pretty much like everybody else?

That’s what I think, but we really don’t know.

The story of Jesus resumes when, as an adult, he appears at the River Jordan and is baptized by John the Baptist.

And, as we heard in today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, after his baptism, Jesus was praying when the heaven was opened and the Spirit descended and the voice from heaven said, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”

Now, you don’t have to agree with me about this, but I think that it’s at this moment – it’s at his baptism – that Jesus discovers – or begins to discover – who he really is:

God’s Son, the Beloved, with whom God is well pleased.

And I also believe that it’s at our baptism that we discover – or we begin to discover – who we really are.

As I never get tired of saying, in the water of baptism God makes an indissoluble, unbreakable bond with us.

There’s nothing we could ever do or not do that could cause God to dissolve or break this bond.

Why does God do this?

Because God loves us.

God loves us unconditionally.

We are God’s beloved children.

The Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke all report that immediately after his baptism, the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness, where for forty days and nights he was alone and hungry and thirsty and tempted and tested by Satan.

And I would imagine that during those long wilderness days and nights, our brother Jesus must have struggled to remember his baptism – struggled to recall that he was God’s Son – that he was God’s Beloved.

More than any of Satan’s tests, maybe the greatest temptation during those hard days was to forget or dismiss his baptism – to think that it was all a dream, just a figment of his imagination.

But Jesus remembered who he was and remained faithful in the wilderness.

And, you know, my baptized sisters and brothers, today we are in the wilderness, too.

So much is uncertain and frightening.

I’m sure you noticed that two of today’s lessons plus the psalm mention fire – a force, like water, that can both purify and also destroy.

Today we are in the wilderness and maybe we are tempted to forget or dismiss the great truths that we experience in baptism – the graces that we receive in baptism.

In the wilderness, maybe we forget God’s love and give into fear and despair.

But Jesus didn’t give into temptation, and, with God’s help, we can resist temptation, too.

        Even in the wilderness, even when the fires rage and the floods roar, we are beloved by God.

        And God will not let go of us, no matter what.

        So, what is church now?

        We could talk about this all day, but in this time and place, here’s what I think:

        Church is a school of God’s love.

        Church is a school of God’s love.

        You know, whenever I’ve had conversations about Sunday School, I’ve always said that, while I hope our children learn about our faith, that they learn some of the stories and the prayers, most of all, I hope that they feel loved here and begin to know that God loves them, no matter what.

        But it’s not just children who need to learn this.

        Especially in a culture that’s kind of stingy when it comes to love and compassion, a society that teaches us that we must earn everything and that we must deserve everything we get, we all need to learn and relearn that God loves us, no matter what.

        Church is a school of God’s love, a school where we are all teachers and students, over and over teaching one another and learning from each other the most important lesson:

        We are God’s beloved children.

        This is who we really are.

        And when we know this, we can endure the troubles and tragedies of life.

        We are God’s beloved children.

        This is who we really are.

        And when we know this, we really can keep our baptismal vows, loving God’s beloved children out there, seeking and serving Christ in all persons.

        We are God’s beloved children.

        This is who we really are.

        And church is a school of God’s love.

        Amen.

Religion and Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 5, 2025

The Second Sunday after Christmas

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Psalm 84:1-8

Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a

Matthew 2:1-12

Religion and Life

If you were here last week, on the First Sunday after Christmas, you may remember that our gospel lesson was the Prologue to the Gospel of John.

        The Prologue is John’s poetic version of the Christmas story – a Cosmic Christmas.

Rather than giving us details about Jesus’ birth, John looks all the way back… 

        “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

        So beautiful, right?

        And then, John declares that the Word that was with God, the Light that is God, became a flesh and blood human being in and through Jesus.

        “The Word became flesh and lived among us.”

        Christians have been hearing and reading and pondering those words for two thousand years.

        And maybe, over all that time, we’ve somehow gotten used to the idea of God becoming flesh, what’s called the Incarnation.

        Maybe we’ve gotten kind of ho-hum about God becoming one of us.

        Or, more likely, we still haven’t fully grasped what all this means for God and for us.

        God – the Creator and Source of all life – was uniquely present in Mary’s son, watched over by Joseph.

        God – the Creator and Source of all life – becomes flesh and blood, just like us.

        God plunges into our messed-up world - a world with brutal tyrants like Herod.

        God plunges into our still beautiful world, a world with people of wonder, curiosity, and courage – people like the Magi.

        We really don’t know who the Magi were – these wise visitors from the East - we don’t even know how many of them there were. We just assume that there were three because of their three gifts.

        But whoever they were, the Magi were willing to make a long trek to see for themselves the newborn king, eager to pay him homage and to present their gifts, and they were also brave enough to disobey Herod.

        Herod, of course, didn’t like this one bit.

        And in a grim part of the story that we didn’t hear today, Herod was so determined to kill this new king – this newborn rival – that he ordered the slaughter of all the young children in Bethlehem.

        But Herod’s plan to kill the new king was thwarted because, alerted by an angel, Joseph, Mary and the child Jesus fled to Egypt.

        For a time, the Holy Family was a refugee family.

        I appreciate the transition from John’s poetry that we heard last week and Matthew’s very earthy story that we heard today.

        It’s a vivid reminder that, in and through Jesus, God plunges into our messed-up but still beautiful world.

        And it’s also a reminder that for us Christians, there should be no gap between our religion and our life – no gap between the poetry that we say and sing in church each week and how we live our lives out there in the world.

        This is something that I think about pretty regularly: what difference does all of “this” make? 

        And I’m in good company because this was a main interest of our old friend Sam Shoemaker.

        It’s been a while since I’ve talked about Shoemaker, which means there are some newer parishioners who’ve never heard of him.

        Sam Shoemaker was born in Baltimore in 1893.

        He grew up here at St. Thomas’ and, to make a long story very short, he was ordained a priest in 1921. In fact, he presided at his first Holy Communion service right here.

        Shoemaker spent most of his ministry at Calvary Church in the Gramercy Park neighborhood of New York City.

        For decades he was incredibly active, writing over 20 books, speaking regularly on the radio, going on preaching tours, some of his sermons were even released on records – something which just amazes me.

        Today he’s best remembered for providing the spiritual foundations for the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous – just think about how many millions of lives he has touched and saved through that extraordinary program.

        But, as I said, Shoemaker was also especially passionate about connecting our religion with our entire life.

        Very early on, in 1926, Shoemaker started the “Faith at Work” movement.

        On Thursday evenings, lay people would meet at Calvary Church and talk about how they had lived as Christians out in the world.

        (A little commercial: nearly a century after Shoemaker started “Faith at Work,” this will be the topic for this year’s Shoemaker event on Saturday, February 1, which I very much hope you’ll attend.)

        It was the Incarnation, it was God plunging into our messed-up but still beautiful world that pushed Shoemaker to do this work. Here’s what he wrote:

        "We must utterly abolish the common distinction between religion and life. We have religion in a compartment - then there is life on the other side. Religion is praying, going to church, reading the Bible. Life is raising a family, making a living, enjoying company and recreation. In a religion that began with 'The Word was made flesh,' such thinking is heresy."

        Coincidentally or not, one of the things I’ve been thinking about for our new year together is to find new ways, or maybe rediscover some old ways, for us to get together and tell our stories – to learn more about each other – and maybe also to talk about the challenges of living as Christians out in the world.

        As Shoemaker said, we must abolish the distinction between religion and life.

        Stay tuned.

        So, on the morning of New Year’s Day, I went over to the office to work on today’s sermon, hoping for a couple of quiet, solitary hours before our noon service and Bible Study.

        I had just started writing at my desk when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man walk up to the office door. After finding it locked, he rang the bell.

        I confess that my first irritated thought was, “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s 9:00 in the morning on New Year’s Day.”

        But I unlocked the door and greeted the man in the office hallway.

        He identified himself as detective with the Baltimore County Police Department.

        And then he told me there had been a homicide “just up the road.”

        My stomach dropped, thinking that maybe one of our parishioners – that maybe one of you - might have been killed.

        The detective explained that he was hoping that our security cameras might be helpful in the investigation.

        When I finally got back to my desk, I looked online for more information and saw that it was a 21-year-old man named Raheim Ali Esna Ashari who had been shot and killed on Garrison Forest Road. 

         Nobody I knew.

         But yet another tragedy, particularly unsettling because it was so close to us.

         And as I tried to work on my sermon, I thought, well, here it is - here is a painfully local and terribly sad example of what I wanted to say today.

        Two thousand years ago, God plunged into this world, shining light and love into our messed-up world.

        God plunged into a world seemingly ruled by tyrants like Herod, ruthless men willing to lie and kill to protect their power and wealth.

        God plunged into a world where life seemed to be cheap, a violent world, where lives could and would be taken for little or no cause.

        God plunged into a world where families are forced to flee their homelands, desperate to save the lives of their children.

        But God also plunged into a world that’s still beautiful, a world where the Magi travel far to worship the newborn King, to offer him their gifts.

        God plunged into a world that’s still beautiful, a world where so many of you offer your gifts to people who can never repay us, never even thank us.

        In and through Jesus, God plunged into our messed-up but still beautiful world.

        And, especially as we begin an uncertain and already bloodstained new year, we Christians are called to follow God’s lead.

        With God’s help, may we plunge into the world.

        May God continue to shine light and love, in and through us.

        May we bridge the gap between religion and life.

        Out there.

        Amen.