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.