We Are Meant To Be Together

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 27, 2025

Year C: The Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 118:14-29

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

We Are Meant To Be Together

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Well, by now the world has moved on from Easter.

I'm sure that Giant and Wegmans are offering deep discounts on all that unsold Easter candy. Hurry! It is priced to sell!

But, here in church, not only is it still Easter, but Easter is just getting started.

The Easter Season is fifty days long, stretching all the way to the great feast of Pentecost – June 8th this year – Pentecost, when we’ll celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit and the first official visit of Bishop Carrie and the confirmation of our young people and Amelia’s first full day as a priest!

I mean, come on! What a day that will be!

Yes, for us it is still Easter and, at the start of today’s gospel reading, it is still the first Easter for Jesus’ disciples.

Mary Magdalene has already rushed to tell Jesus’ other friends the good news – the best news ever – that Jesus is risen.

But rather than shouting joyful Alleluias, it seems that the other disciples didn’t quite believe or grasp this most amazing news.

Instead, we’re told that most of the traumatized disciples were hiding out together, behind a locked door, frightened that what had happened to Jesus – arrest and execution – was now going to happen to them.

Since John writes that the disciples were hiding behind locked doors “for fear of the Jews,” it’s necessary to once again point out that all the disciples, and Jesus himself, they were all Jews.

As I said on Palm Sunday, this is not a story of Jews versus Christians.

Aside from the Romans, they were all Jews. And there were no Christians, yet.

It’s more precise to say that the disciples were afraid of the same leaders who had turned against Jesus and urged the Romans to kill him, which they did, just like they killed countless others who were seen as somehow threatening the power of Rome.

Anyway, on that first Easter night, most of the traumatized disciples were hiding out together when the Risen Jesus appears.

Now, in this moment, the disciples had good reasons to be afraid – the sight of someone known to be dead but now alive would be scary enough, but there’s also the painful truth that the disciples had let down Jesus in his moment of need.

They had fled.

They had denied him.

They did not believe.

So, if I’m one of the disciples, I’m thinking that maybe Jesus has returned from the dead to exact revenge on his faithless friends!

But no. Of course not.

        Jesus’ first words to his friends are:

        “Peace be with you.”

        “Peace be with you.”

        And after hearing those words of peace and seeing the wounds and receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit, the disciples know – they know the Good News, they know the best news ever:

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

    Well, most of the disciples knew.

    At least one disciple was missing that first Easter night: our brother and friend and patron saint, Thomas.

    And I always wonder why he wasn’t with the others.

    Where was he?

    We don’t know, but I imagine him dealing with his trauma by going off by himself somewhere, maybe out into the wilderness, yelling up at the night sky, shouting at God, “How could you have let this happen?

I imagine Thomas out in the night, feeling guilty and ashamed, disgusted by himself and the others - cowards who had abandoned the Lord.

    But no matter where he was, Thomas was cut off from the community. And he is not in a good place when the other disciples tell him the best news of all time.

    He’s not having it, not believing.

    Not only that, but Thomas also sets conditions for his belief: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

    Well, you heard, you know, the story.

    A week later, Thomas is now back with the others in fellowship, in community, and Jesus offers him exactly what he demanded, what he seemed to need.

    To his credit, Thomas doesn’t actually touch the Lord.

    Instead, he says more than he probably understood:

    “My Lord and my God!”

    Alleluia! Christ is risen!

    The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

    So, last Sunday, I had the joy of baptizing Millie.

    And in a few moments, I’ll have the joy of baptizing Bo.

    And – wait - next Sunday, I’ll have the joy of baptizing Ellie.

    All I can say is, it’s a good thing we all love baptism!

    As many of you know, on baptism days I often talk about the Baptismal Covenant, these big promises that we make and renew at each baptism, the big promises that we can only hope to keep with God’s help.

    Especially lately, I’ve been focusing on our promises to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self – and to strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.

    Very important. Essential.

    But today, I want to draw our attention to our first baptismal promise, our promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers.

    With God’s help, we promise to remain in fellowship with one another, to remain in fellowship with Christ.

    Over the past few days, as I’ve been reflecting on that promise, I’ve been thinking about Thomas apart from the others, missing out on the first Easter, missing out on the gift of the Holy Spirit, missing out on rejoicing with the others.

    Wherever he was that night, it’s clear that he was not in a good place.

    He was eventually reunited with Jesus, of course, but Thomas made things much more difficult than they needed to be. He prolonged his suffering, his despair, his anger, his guilt.

    And so often, we do exactly the same thing.

    I can’t tell you how many times over the years I’ve spoken to people in some kind of distress – illness, grief, fear, shame – and they’ve said that they’ll come back to church when they’re feeling better, when they’ve solved their problems, when they’ve got their act together.

    No judgment, because, honestly, there have been times that if I were not contractually obligated to be here, I might have made the same choice – to sit it out, to head off to the rail trail by myself, or just stay under the covers until the storm passes.

    But just like Thomas learned so vividly one week after the first Easter, and as I think a whole lot of people learned or remembered here last week during our super-joyful Easter, and as I think people experienced yesterday at the funeral of Pope Francis, we are meant to be together.

    We are meant to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.

    We are meant to be together because it’s when we are together that we meet the Risen Christ – the Risen Christ who shows us his wounds, signaling that he knows suffering just like we do – the Risen Christ who says to us, “Peace be with you” – the Risen Christ who gives us the Holy Spirit, gives us the strength and courage we need to keep going – the Risen Christ who offers us what we need to be free of anger, fear, and shame.

    For Thomas and for Bo and for all of us, it’s Easter at last.

    And it’s going to keep on being Easter.

    And we are meant to be together.

    Alleluia! Christ is risen!

    The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

    Amen.

Entrusted by God to Share the Best News Ever

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 20, 2025

Year C: Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

1 Corinthians 15:19-26

John 20:1-18

Entrusted by God to Share the Best News Ever

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

You know, this year, much like spring itself, Easter seems kind of late, doesn’t it?

Today’s joyful celebration feels like it’s been a really long time coming but, thanks be to God, it is Easter at last!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And thanks be also to so many hardworking, generous, and talented people who have once again made Holy Week and Easter at St. Thomas’ deeply meaningful and extraordinarily beautiful.

Thank you to our Altar Guild and Flower Committee – I mean, seriously, just look at this place!

Thank you to our worship leaders: our deacon, our verger, our acolytes, our lectors our chalice-bearers., and our ushers.

Thank you to our phenomenal choir and guest musicians.

Thank you to our wardens past and present for this morning’s over-the-top delicious breakfast.

And thank you to our office volunteers and our super-dedicated church staff – so many bulletins to create, edit, print, and stuff – so many other little (and not so little) details to take care of – so much good and holy work, all to make Easter happen at St. Thomas’ Church.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Yes, for us, it is Easter. at last.

And for Mary Magdalene in today’s gospel lesson, it’s the first Easter, the first Easter morning.

But, of course, at first, she didn’t know that.

Mary Magdalene was still grieving the brutal death of her Lord.

        She was in a place of unknowing, still trying to make sense of all that had happened.

        Early in the morning, all by herself, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb in the garden – there’s nothing else, nothing more, that she can do, except stay as close as possible to Jesus.

        Then, as we heard, Mary Magdalene made the horrifying discovery that the tomb has been opened.

        Will this tragedy ever end?

        Understandably frantic, Mary Magdalene ran to get Peter and the other disciple who run to the tomb, take a look around, and then they head back home – these guys are no help at all.

        And Mary Magdalene is left at the tomb, alone. Or so she thinks.

        As she weeps, the angels ask her what must have seemed a cruel question: “Woman, why are you weeping?” 

        And then a stranger – oh, it must be the gardener – he asks her the same question.

        But then.

        But then, when “the Gardener” calls her by name, she knows.

        Mary Magdalene knows the voice of the Good Shepherd. 

        Mary Magdalene knows the best news of all time:

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        And now let’s stop right at this moment.

        While the first Easter was happening in the garden, everyone out in the world thought that the Romans and their local accomplices had won.

        The Romans and their local accomplices certainly thought so.

        All the people who had welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem waving their branches and shouting “Hosanna” and then, just a few days later, called for Jesus’ death, they thought so.

        Even the disciples, cowardly and unfaithful and now hiding out for dear life, even they thought that the Romans had won.

        After all, everybody knew that Jesus had died on the cross and his lifeless body was placed in the tomb.

        So, at this moment, on the first Easter morning, there was only one person who knew that, in fact, the Romans had not won – only one person knew that hate, violence, and death had not defeated mercy, love, and life.

        And that one person was Mary Magdalene.

        In that moment, she was the whole church – she was the only one who knew the Good News that mercy, love and life have won – and she was the only one entrusted by God to share the best news of all time to a frightened and grieving world.

        And that is exactly what she did:

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        In just a few moments, I will have the great joy and privilege of baptizing beautiful little Millie.

        I mean, really, what could be better than an Easter baptism?

        Millie is already off to a great start – her family adores her, and her family has deep roots in this church, a history of faith and devotion represented so beautifully today both in our font and on our altar.

        And now today in the water of Baptism, God will make an unbreakable bond of love with Millie.

        As we always do, during Millie’s Baptism we’ll renew our Baptismal Covenant.

        We’ll promise to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.

        We’ll promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self.

        And really this means that, just like God entrusted Mary Magdalene two thousand years ago to announce the Good News, God entrusts us today to share the best news ever – to share the Good News through what we say and do – by loving our neighbors, most especially the poor, the stranger., and the outcast

        This is a tall order, only possible with God’s help, only possible when we work together.

        Fortunately, there are a lot of us! Just look around! Unlike Mary Magdalene who was all on her own, this place is packed with people experiencing the joy of new life, right here and now.

        And here’s something else to give us a little boost, to give us some courage.

        You may know that usually Western and Eastern Christians celebrate Easter on different dates, right?

        But not this year.

        All around the world, Christians are celebrating Easter today.

        So, it may feel like Easter is kind of late this year, but, in fact, as always, God is right on time.

        Today, we and Christians everywhere are having our Mary Magdalene moment.

        Together, we have encountered the Risen Lord.

        Together, we know that no matter how bad things may look, mercy, love, and life have won.

        And God has entrusted us to celebrate and share the best news of all time.

        So, let’s get to it!

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        Amen.

New Life Starts in the Dark

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 19, 2025

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

New Life Starts in the Dark

Today is Holy Saturday, the most shadowy, the most unknowable, day of the Christian Year.

By now, the Palm Procession seems like a distant memory.

We have long since digested the Last Supper.

The horror and suffering of Good Friday is mercifully ended.

And Jesus, Jesus is dead – really dead – in the sealed and so very dark tomb.

We all know that even very faithful and devout Christians, even the ones who attend other Holy Week services, skip over this shadowy and unknowable in-between time.

No judgment at all – I get it.

Believe me, I know that there’s a lot to do to get ready for Easter.

And, maybe, for some, this day is just too uncomfortable, too unsettling, too sad – and so we look the other way, move on, and busy ourselves preparing for tomorrow’s most joyful feast.

So why are we here?

        Why is it important to be here?

Well, for one thing, today is a most powerful reminder that in and through Jesus, God has fully entered the human experience, from the helplessness of infancy to the heartbreak of rejection and now, even to death itself.

Something new for God, perhaps. To taste death.

How loved we are that the God of Life would endure  all of this for all of us.

And Holy Saturday also reminds us that no one witnessed the Resurrection itself, not even Mary Magdalene who, as we’ll hear again tomorrow morning, was the first to meet the Risen Lord in the garden.

No one witnessed the Resurrection.

That fact reminds me of a favorite quote from Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and writer. 

She writes, “…new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

“New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

New life starts in the dark.

All of you gardeners know that already. 

And all of us Christians should know it, too.

It got very dark in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, when the Son of God was betrayed, rejected, tortured, and killed.

It was very dark in the tomb.

And, today, our world – and maybe our own life – seems very dark, too.

But, on this shadowy, unknowable, and overlooked day, we hope, and we trust.

We hope and we trust because, especially on Holy Saturday, we know that new life starts in the dark.

Amen.

Remembrance and Service

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 17, 2022

Maundy Thursday 

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Remembrance and Service

For a while, Jesus had predicted his fate, trying to prepare his disciples for all that was going to happen in Jerusalem, during the days around Passover, in a time of turmoil.

But Jesus’ closest friends would not – or could not – accept that their friend, the one they had come to know and love as Lord was going to suffer and die.

We know how it is.

But, in a city on edge, Jesus and his disciples gathered around the table for what everyone must have realized would be their last supper together.

The hard truth was sinking in.

It would have been understandable to simply sit quietly for a while in the terrible sadness of it all, but, instead, Jesus the great teacher uses this precious opportunity to share a few last, most important lessons.

At this last supper with his friends, Jesus takes and blesses bread and wine and promises that he will always be with them – he will always be with us - when we gather together around the table to remember him.

And Jesus also washes the feet of his disciples, an act of service so outrageously lowly that Peter, reasonably enough, is shocked, and insists that he simply will not allow it.

The fisherman says flat out, “You will never wash my feet.”

But Jesus patiently explains that this is how it must be – this is how it must be if Peter and the others want to be part of Jesus, want to be part of his community of love and service.

Hearing that, Peter, finally showing some wisdom, quickly gives in, enthusiastically inviting Jesus to wash not just his feet, but his whole body.

When the foot-washing was complete, Jesus gives his great command – in Latin, the mandatum - that gives Maundy Thursday its name. 

Jesus gives his great command that we are to love one another as he loves us.

And this love is not so much a nice warm feeling.

        No, this love is action – this love is expressed by offering lowly, costly service. This love is shared by washing feet. 

 

        Many of you know that I like to mention how the disciples were often clueless, frequently fell short, they just didn’t get Jesus.

        It’s a consolation for those of us who are often clueless, frequently fall short, just don’t get Jesus.

         But, despite all the turmoil of that night and the days ahead, despite the heartbreak of the cross and the wonder of the empty tomb, despite all of that and much more to come, the disciples remembered.

        They remembered these most important lessons and they passed them down through the generations, all the way to us here this evening.

Especially in our own time of turmoil, these are lessons that we need to hear and learn again.

We are not alone.

Jesus is among us – really with us – in the Bread and the Wine, really present each time we gather and remember him.

And our own time of turmoil has both caused and revealed so much suffering all around us – making us even more acutely aware of just how many feet need washing.

We wash feet by caring for our parishioners who are sick, lonely, sad, frightened.

We wash feet by feeding the people at Paul’s Place, by providing supplies for the people who line up week after week at the Community Crisis Center, by teaching the children at Owings Mills Elementary School.

We wash feet by welcoming and loving our Afghan friends and neighbors.

Yes, especially today, we need to hear and learn the lessons of Jesus, we need to remember his command to love one another.

Near the end of this evening’s service, we will follow the ancient practice of “stripping” the altar, putting away most of sacred objects and furnishings, symbolizing the end of the Last Supper, and preparing for Good Friday.

And, just as Jesus spent the night praying in the garden, we will bring the Bread and Wine, the Body and Blood of Christ, here to our beautiful little garden.

We will conclude in silence.

I invite you to stay for at least a few quiet minutes of prayer and reflection.

Remember Jesus, his teachings, his example, his sacrifice – remember his command for us to love one another.

And recommit to washing feet.

Amen.

The Faithfulness of Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 13, 2025

Year C: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Luke 23:1-49

The Faithfulness of Jesus

Today is the most disorienting day of the Christian year.

It’s a disorienting day with a confusing name.

We call today “The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday.” 

Even our worship on this day – usually so orderly, dignified, predictable - is kind of disorienting.

Some of us began this day outside, where we heard about the first palm parade in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, and then our palms were blessed.

There was a sense of excitement as we started our parade, singing our songs, waving our palms, singing “Hosanna!”  - “Save us!” - as we slowly made our way to the church.

But then we arrived here in this holy place and the mood quickly changed.

And maybe before we realized what was happening, a day that started with an almost festive atmosphere ends with death – a horrible and seemingly quite final, death.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was an occupied city, ruled by the brutal Romans and their various local collaborators, including religious leaders who desperately wanted to keep the peace, or what passed for peace, anyway.

Two thousand years ago, in Jerusalem, it was nearly the Passover, that great Jewish feast recalling God leading God’s people from slavery to freedom, the start of a journey from oppression to the promised land.

Of course, the Romans and their local collaborators were well aware of the festival and its meaning, and were always on high alert during these holy days, ready to crush any uprising, determined to snuff out any would-be kings – or any potential messiahs.

By the time Jesus arrived in Jerusalem just before this particular Passover, his fellow Jews were so hungry for God to act once again – ready for the start of another journey to freedom.

Word had surely gotten around about Jesus of Nazareth – true, he was not quite the messiah that anyone had expected – not very much like Moses or King David – but there was no denying the power of his healings and the wisdom of his teaching.

So, some thought – hoped – expected - that this Jesus of Nazareth was about to start an uprising that would restore Israel’s independence and glory.

Not unlike our little palm parade this morning, there was excitement in the air in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago.

In a time of turmoil, the people were eager to welcome their new king into his capital city.

But then everything seemed to go so terribly wrong.

It’s usually assumed that some of the same people who had welcomed Jesus with waving branches and by placing their cloaks in the road later turned against him and called for his death.

Maybe they were disappointed that Jesus turned out to not be the kind of messiah they thought they wanted or needed, or maybe they were just swept up in the frenzy of the crowd, finding themselves saying and doing things previously unthinkable.

We know how that can happen.

Today, after two thousand years of mostly bad history and in a time of rising anti-Semitism here in our own country and around the world, it’s especially important to make clear that this is not a story of Jews versus Christians.

It’s important to make absolutely clear that “the Jews” of two thousand years ago were not collectively responsible for the death of Jesus and the Jews of today certainly carry no guilt.

With an assist from their fearful local collaborators, the Romans killed Jesus.

Just like so many people in his own time and so many people today, Jesus was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

Besides, when we cast blame on long-ago people, or their modern-day descendants, we conveniently let ourselves off the hook.

On this most disorienting day we draw near to the mysterious heart of our faith: God enters the world in and through Jesus, inviting us to walk in love.

And we reject him – over and over we reject him, choosing instead hatred and violence.

And yet, God does not give up on us.

Reflecting on the story of Jesus in Jerusalem in a time of turmoil two thousand years ago, I’m always struck by his faithfulness.

We often talk about our faith in Jesus but we should probably talk more about the faith of Jesus.

When the crowds hailed him as he entered his capital city, desperately hoping that he was the king to oust the Romans and their collaborators, Jesus resisted the temptation to give the people what they wanted.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

And later, when his friends deserted him and the powers of the world had their way with him, dishing out their worst, Jesus resisted the temptation to fight back, to reveal his divine power.

And near the end, as his life was slipping away, Jesus resisted the temptation to condemn the people who had turned against him, to curse his friends who had abandoned him.

Instead, Jesus endured the suffering, revealing the depths of God’s love for us.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

Not unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, today we are living in a time of turmoil.

And it is tempting to be unfaithful to our mission and live like pretty much everybody else.

But, as disciples of Jesus, as the Body of Christ in the world, we are called to walk in love, as Christ loved us.

So, in our own time of turmoil, let’s keep our hearts fixed on faithful Jesus, and, especially during this holy week, together, let’s follow him to the cross, the tomb, and to the new life of Easter.

Amen.

Anointing Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 6, 2025

Year C: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Isaiah 43:16-21

Psalm 126

Philippians 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

Anointing Jesus

Let us pray.

Loving God, in a time of fear and uncertainty, help us to be as generous and loving as Mary of Bethany.

Inspire us today to anoint and love Jesus by abundantly serving and loving our poor brothers and sisters.

Amen.

        Well, our recent big announcement that Amelia will be staying on with us as our Assistant Rector has got me thinking about my first “call,” my first job as a priest.

I served as the curate (pretty much the same thing as assistant rector) at Grace Church in Madison, New Jersey – a really wonderful church, a church that’s like St. Thomas’ in some important ways.

It’s vibrant church with lots of great ministries, including a heart for outreach.

There’s an excellent choir and music program.

And Grace Church is in the suburbs, but not too far from the city.

It was the perfect place to begin my ordained ministry, working as a “partner in ministry” with the church’s rector and my mentor and friend, the Rev. Lauren Ackland.

And now my hope is to offer that same gift of a great start to Amelia.

Anyway, as curate, one of my responsibilities was organizing the Youth Mission Trip.

Back then, the youth and their adult leaders would go on a mission trip, usually to a foreign country, every other summer. During the alternating summers they went on a pilgrimage that was more focused on spirituality.

It was a great combination – and, hopefully, as we continue our rebuild and renewal here, we’ll get to the point when we here at St. Thomas’ can sponsor a mission trip again, and, who knows, maybe a pilgrimage, too.

So, one year (it was 2009, actually), when I started thinking about the mission trip, I came up with something different.

Instead of flying to a foreign country, I said how about we drive an hour or so down the New Jersey Turnpike and have our mission trip in…Camden?

You may know that Camden is an old industrial port city just across the Delaware River from Philadelphia.

Camden is a city that has been burdened by the closing of factories, the flight of people to the suburbs, racism, a poisoned environment, corruption, crime, the scourge of drugs…you know the story.

I suggested that we spend a week at the Romero Center, a retreat center named for Oscar Romero, the El Salvadoran archbishop who had defended the poor and advocated for peace.

Archbishop Romero was assassinated in 1980, martyred by a right-wing death squad as he celebrated Mass.

In Camden, the Romero Center offers what it calls the Urban Challenge.

During the day, the participants, usually students and church members, fan out to different service providers in the city – volunteering at schools, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, day care centers for children and for adults – and then, and this is crucial, everybody gathers together again at the end of the day to share and reflect on what they had seen and done, what they had experienced.

In one particularly memorable exercise, we were divided up into “families” and we all went to what was Camden’s lone supermarket to purchase food for our “family,” but we were limited to the amount of money a family received through food stamps. 

There was a lot of white bread and mac ‘n cheese that night.

As you might guess, some of the church parents and kids were disappointed by, and frankly unhappy about, my Camden idea – too different from the foreign adventures that older kids had experienced and just too dangerous.

But others were excited about it and jumped right in.

It wasn’t a perfect week, but it’s still one of the most memorable events of my priesthood – and I know that at least some of the kids and adults who participated were deeply affected by what they saw and did during those days in Camden.

At the Romero Center, in the common room where we would pray together and reflect on our experiences, there’s a phrase painted in bold letters on the wall.

It’s a quote from the Peruvian priest and liberation theologian, Gustavo Gutierrez:

“So you say you love the poor…NAME THEM.”

“So you say you love the poor…NAME THEM.”

Well, it has been a very difficult week, a time of much fear and uncertainty, but I still remember last Sunday, our joyful and rose-colored Laetare Sunday.

        In her excellent sermon, Amelia offered us a profound reflection on the Parable of the Prodigal Son – or, rather, excuse me, the Parable of the Misunderstood Father. 

        And now in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem and all that awaits him there.

        For his friends at least, it was a time of much fear and uncertainty.

        Along the way, Jesus and his disciples stop in Bethany, at the home of Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.

Lazarus’ sisters are there, acting very much in character. Martha busily serves dinner to the guests while her sister Mary, in an extraordinarily tender act, anoints Jesus’ feet with very expensive perfume and dries them with her hair.

We’re told that the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

Even now, Mary’s intimate act of love and devotion – preparing Jesus for his death -unsettles us, so we can imagine how shocking it must have been for Jesus’ disciples.

Judas, of course, objects to the great expense.

He says, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?”

A denarius, by the way, was about a day’s wage – so three hundred denarii would have been a lot of money.

John tells us that Judas was a thief and didn’t really care about the poor. 

        OK, fine. 

        But I’m pretty sure that if I had been there in Bethany that night and seen and smelled all that expensive perfume poured out onto Jesus’ feet, I may have kept my mouth shut but I would’ve thought the exact same thing: what a waste!

And I’ve gotten to know you well enough to know that many of you would be right there with Judas and me!

Well, Jesus responds to Judas with words that have been often misunderstood: 

Jesus says, “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

These are problematic words.

I mean, yes, Jesus is not present for us the same way he was for everyone gathered around the table in Bethany two thousand years ago.

But Jesus’ declaration that we will always have the poor with us sounds kind of fatalistic, doesn’t it?         

        It’s certainly been interpreted that way.

        Faced with so much poverty and suffering, many Christians have sort of shrugged:

        “What are you going to do? After all, Jesus said, there will always be poor people. That’s just how it is.”

But we know Jesus better than that.

So, I think that Jesus really means that if we’re going to be his disciples, if we’re going to be his church, if we’re going to take up our cross and follow him, then, just as Jesus was always close to the poor, we must always be close to the poor.

If we’re really Christians, then the poor will always be with us.

We are meant to be so close to the poor that we know them – that we know their names.

“So you say you love the poor…NAME THEM.”

        And when we know and serve and love the poor, we are anointing Jesus himself as surely as Mary anointed Jesus with her expensive perfume two thousand years ago.

This was the lesson that we learned at the Romero Center all those years ago.

And this is why our abundantly generous ministries like Owls First and our hospitality for Afghan refugees are so important and beautiful.

This work brings us, keeps us, close to the children at Owings Mills Elementary School, close to our Afghan friends.

Close enough that we know each other’s names.

Close enough that we truly love one another.

Two thousand years ago, in a time of fear and uncertainty, Mary of Bethany anointed Jesus with expensive perfume.

Today, in our time of fear and uncertainty, may we anoint Jesus with overflowing and costly love.

May we anoint and love Jesus by abundantly serving and loving  and knowing our poor sisters and brothers.

Amen.