A Man of New Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 10, 2023

The Funeral of James Piper, III

Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33

Psalm 121

Revelation 7:9-17

John 14:1-6a

A Man of New Life

Today’s Gospel lesson might be a little jarring for us to hear on this day.

After all, just yesterday we Christians celebrated the great feast of Easter, the day that is all about new life.

But our Gospel lesson takes us back to Holy Week, back to the Last Supper, back to when Jesus and his friends gathered for one final meal.

Jesus had been predicting his death for some time, but you know how it is.

Even with a lot of warning, it’s hard to accept that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

Jesus tried to reassure his friends that he was going to prepare a place for them – and that they knew the way to that place of reunion.

I’m sure that none of the disciples understood what Jesus was talking about, but It’s only Thomas who’s bold enough to admit that, actually, Lord, we do not know the way.

To which Jesus responded, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

I’m sure that didn’t really clear things up, either.

But, a few days later, maybe the disciples began to understand.

Easter is all about new life.

And, I think you’ll agree, our beloved Jim Piper was all about new life, too.

Jim was an Easter guy - a man of new life.

I am deeply honored to have the opportunity to share a few words with you this morning.

But, to be honest, I also feel a little… shortchanged.

You see, I’ve only been here for a little less than two years and so I didn’t have the chance to know Jim for anywhere near as long as most, if not all, of you did.

But, even in that relatively short time, I came to admire and love Jim, just like all of you.

We met on my first Sunday here – when I met a lot of people for the first time, making my memories of that day kind of blurry.

But I remember Jim and Mimi walking up the path to greet me with warm smiles. Jim told me how long he had been a parishioner – his whole life – and how much St. Thomas’ meant to him.

But, while Jim was certainly proud of his heritage – and his heart was full of many fond memories – the truth is he was passionate about engaging with people right here and now – and, perhaps remarkably for a man of his years, he was excited about the future.

I remember early on in my time here, we invited parishioners to a Zoom meeting to talk about our church outreach efforts.

Jim and Mimi were there and Jim urged us to get involved with ReBUILD Metro and its remarkable work Baltimore City, renewing neighborhoods, house by house, block by block.

Jim was a man of new life.

Jim had seen a lot of priests come and go in this place and yet he genuinely cared about me and my work, and he wanted to help me be successful.

So, he did for me what he did for so many others – he connected me with people he thought I should know.

So one day he picked me up and drove me down to the city for a memorable lunch with his nephew, James. And after that lunch, he took me on a personal tour of the city, pointing out landmarks he thought I should know, giving me the lay of the land. 

At one point in our travels, road construction forced us to follow a detour.

After a couple of minutes of quiet, Jim turned to me with a big smile and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been on this street before!”

That was really saying something, I know.

The little adventure of it – the newness of it – pleased him.

Jim was a man of new life.

And that was true right to the end.

One time, I guess about a month ago, I visited him in the hospital. He’d been enduring ups and downs and I could tell he wasn’t feeling great. And yet, he still wanted to hear all the latest news from St. Thomas’.

“And what’s happening with outreach?” he asked. 

And sure enough, he brought up ReBUILD Metro, yet again.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve learned so much about Jim, about his life  and his legacy – the love that he shared with Mimi and with Jenepher, Loring, and Elizabeth, and with his whole family – his deep bonds of friendship with so many – his passion for music, a passion he shared right here as a member of our choir for many decades – his commitment to mentoring – his dedication to the Irvine Nature Center, and on and on.

Jim really was a man of new life.

I was struck by the fact that Jim died on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, the day before the start of Holy Week, that solemn time when we Christians remember Jesus’ suffering and death.

Somehow, it seemed appropriate that Jim would be excused from Holy Week – there would be no more suffering for him.

It seemed appropriate that Jim – this man of new life – would get to skip ahead to Easter – moving on to the place prepared for him by Jesus himself.

For Jim, it’s the best Easter ever – it’s Alleluia forever – it’s new life with God.

For us here today, the Easter flowers and the glorious music, and the presence of so many people who loved Jim, and the reception in a little while over at Irvine, all of that will hopefully comfort us, at least a little.

But we will surely miss Jim until that great day when we are reunited.

Long ago, the Apostle Thomas said to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know the way.”

But, actually, Thomas did know the way.

And we know the way, too.

With God’s help, the way is to be a person of faithfulness, kindness, humility, generosity – a person who plants seeds and delights in watching them grow.

The way is to love.

The way is to be a person of new life.

Jim Piper, he knew the way – and he sure did show us the way.

Amen.

Easter is Our Signal

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 9, 2023

Year A: Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Colossians 3:1-4

John 20:1-18

Easter is Our Signal

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Well, these past few days we have been on quite a journey together. 

A week ago, many of us gathered here for the Palm Parade, remembering the triumphant entry of King Jesus into Jerusalem.

Just like people in Jerusalem long ago, we waved our branches and sang our Hosannas – and, just like two thousand years ago, in a time of hope and anxiety, it seemed like everything was about to change.

And it was – just not in the way anyone expected.

The Roman occupiers of Israel did not tolerate any dissent – there would be no talk of kings, not even one as unusual and unlikely as the teacher and healer from Nazareth.

And so the Romans did to Jesus what they did to so many others – nailed him to a couple of pieces of wood and let him die in agony – a stark and horrifying warning to any would-be troublemakers.

Although Jesus had told his friends that he would rise again on the third day, it seems they would not or could not believe it.

I mean, after all the pain and trauma they had endured, who would dare to hope for new life, right?

So, early on the morning of the third day – so early that it was still dark – Mary Magdalene went to the tomb.

Why was she there? 

Sadness, duty, love, but surely not hope.

Mary Magdalene discovered that the tomb was open – it seemed that there were still more horrors to endure.

She runs to get help – and Peter and the other disciple, they race to the empty tomb, take it all in, and then go back home – they offer no help and have no answers.

But then Mary Magdalene is there alone – or so she thinks.

There are two angels who ask what must have seemed a cruel question: “Woman, why are you weeping?”

And then, the “gardener” appears and Mary appeals for his help in recovering the body – still not even daring to dream of new life.

But when the “gardener” calls her by name, “Mary,” she knows.

She knows the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Following Jesus’ instructions, Mary races to the others.

For however long it took for her to reach Peter and the rest, Mary was the entire church – carrying the Good News into the world:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And now our journey has brought us here to this holy place on this most beautiful morning.

We have been blessed by God.

And we’ve also been blessed by the devotion, skill, and hard work of so many people – our church staff and volunteers, the altar and flower guilds, our choir and just so many wonderful people who love God and love our church.

As you probably know, last week – Holy Week – is the busiest week of the year for clergy and, really, for everyone engaged in church work.

What you may not know is that each year on the Tuesday in Holy Week, the clergy gather at the cathedral to renew our ordination vows and receive Holy Oil blessed by the Bishop.

Now, what I’m about to say needs to stay just between us, OK? 

Every year I think, why do we have this renewal of vows service during the busiest week of the year?

All of us clergy have many sermons to write and tons of bulletins to proofread – there is so much to do. Why not have this service the week before or some other time?

Now, I confess that usually the service is so beautiful that by the end of it I’m feeling better about the whole thing. But then I forget. And a year later I’m grumpy all over again.

Anyway, this past Tuesday morning, I was driving in the city, heading toward our cathedral on West University Parkway, feeling kind of irritable, when I was stopped by a red light.

It was at an unusual intersection because there was another intersection just a few feet ahead with its own traffic light – I bet many of you know the place.

And since the two sets of traffic lights are not in sync, there’s a sign hanging beside the light that I was stopped at.

The sign reads: “THIS IS YOUR SIGNAL.”

I looked at that sign for a second – “THIS IS YOUR SIGNAL” – and I thought, I have never seen a sign like that before.

I don’t think we have them in New Jersey!

And then, while I waited for the light to change, I looked around and, I’m not kidding, it was like the world was transformed. I saw the beautiful trees blooming and all sorts of people making their way along the sidewalk – running, pushing baby strollers, going to or from class – I looked around at all of the life – all of the goodness buzzing around me – and suddenly I felt much better about interrupting my busyness to renew my ordination vows.

And, about a second before the light turned green, it occurred to me that Easter is our signal.

Easter is our signal.

Easter doesn’t fix all of our problems and make everything all better, but Easter is our signal that, no matter how it sometimes seems, fear and hate do not get the last word.

Easter won’t put us into a permanent good mood – I mean, there’s a lot to be unhappy about - but Easter is our signal that God is always at work, transforming death into new life.

Easter is our signal that, just like Mary Magdalene, we are called to carry the Good News into our suffering and anxious world, using both our words and our actions.

Easter is our signal that it’s time to open our doors, open our arms, and, most of all, open our hearts to whomever God sends us – welcoming everyone, especially new and much-loved brothers and sisters, like Josh and Maya and Josie who are about to take the plunge into new life – and Gladys who will be right there beside them.

So, my beloved St. Thomas’, look around and the see the beauty of Easter – smell the beauty of Easter – feel the beauty of Easter – because Easter is our signal!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

In-Between Times

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 8, 2023

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4: 1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

In-Between Times

This morning, we take a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge the strange in-between time of Holy Saturday.

For the past week, many of us have been especially busy.

There have been lots of worship services, beginning with the palm parade and the reading of the Passion last Sunday.

On Thursday, we gathered around the table with Jesus the foot-washer and his disciples, gathered to remember some most important lessons.

Yesterday at noon, we faced the stark reality of Jesus’ death – the depth of his sacrifice – the hard fact that God came into the world in and through Jesus.

And human beings, not so different from us, killed him.

Meanwhile, in our lives both in and out of church, many of us have been busy getting ready for what we know is coming tomorrow – preparing for our joyful celebrations in church – and maybe preparing for time with family and friends.

But Holy Saturday – this morning’s simple and spare service – stops us for just a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge this strange in-between time.

As I’ve reflected on Holy Saturday this year, I’m struck by the fact that the people in the gospel story seem unaware that they are living through an in-between time.

Oh, in today’s gospel lesson we’re told that some of the religious authorities remembered Jesus’ promise that he would rise again on the third day.

They remembered it, all right, but they certainly did not believe it, did not expect it. Instead, they’re concerned about the possibility of deception – so, it’s best to make the tomb extra secure.

But we’re given no hint that Jesus’ followers had any hope or expectation that the story of Jesus was going to continue.

As we’ll hear tomorrow and in the days ahead, the disciples will be quite surprised that Jesus kept his promise.

The disciples were totally unprepared for the new life of Easter. 

The disciples didn’t know it, but they were living through an in-between time, when Jesus the Son of God entered into the human experience in the most extreme way possible – enduring death.

Jesus really died.

As for us, we can try our best to stay in the moment, but we know that, as we speak, the Flower Guild is hard at work in church making everything beautiful for tomorrow.

We can try our best to stay in the moment but we know what’s coming. 

And that’s fine.

We’re not playing pretend here.

But, Holy Saturday is a reminder that we also live in an in-between time – a much longer in-between time, stretching from Easter to the last day.

Much like the first disciples, during our in-between time we grow frightened and we despair – and, sometimes, perhaps we think that God has abandoned us – that maybe suffering and death will get the last word.

Holy Saturday is an opportunity to simply acknowledge these in-between times for the disciples and for us – a time to reflect on the hard facts of Jesus’ suffering and death – and, most of all, a chance to ponder the bottomless depth of God’s love for us.

And so, for a few minutes, at least:

We pray.

And we wait.

Remembrance

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 6, 2023

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Remembrance

You may have seen in the news recently that the Vatican has just formally disavowed what’s called the Doctrine of Discovery.

If you don’t know, the Doctrine of Discovery was an idea first promoted by several popes, beginning back in the 1400’s, giving some European countries pretty much a blank check to do whatever they liked with the land and people of Africa and the Americas. 

The Doctrine of Discovery led to the creation of the slave trade, the suffering and deaths of uncountable millions, the destruction of land, the theft of resources, racism, and more.

And the consequences of the Doctrine of Discovery live on today, punishing some, and benefiting others, depending…

So, admittedly, it’s a little late, but it’s good that the Church formally repudiated what was clearly an un-Christian and a deeply sinful idea and practice.

I mention all of this because the popes who blessed the Doctrine of Discovery and the men who executed it – they were all Christians – and yet, somehow, they were convinced that it was OK to do these horrible things – and not only that, they believed that God blessed these terrible deeds.

It seems that these Christians just didn’t get it, or forgot, or chose to ignore, what is at the heart of our faith.

Of course, this is a really old story, one going all the way back to the beginning.

In fact, a theme that runs through the gospels is that the disciples – that decidedly mixed bag of people chosen by Jesus to be his closest followers – the disciples very often just did not get it.

My favorite example of this is found in the Gospel of Mark.

Jesus predicts to his disciples that he is going to suffer, die, and rise again on the third day.

That should have been a lot for Jesus’ friends to take in, right?

Probably their most appropriate response would simply be to pray or at least keep a respectful silence.

But, instead, the brother disciples James and John use this as an opportunity to ask Jesus if, in the kingdom, they can sit at his right and at his left.

(In Matthew’s version of this story, it’s the mother of James and John who makes this request. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.)

We’re told that the other disciples overheard this request and they got angry at James and John – probably because they all wanted the best seats in the kingdom!

A remarkably patient Jesus uses this as a teachable moment, saying, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

In other words, the disciples were called to follow Jesus’ example.

Now, we are not told if the disciples grasped Jesus’ teaching on servant leadership, but, knowing their track record, and based on what we heard in today’s gospel lesson, I think we can probably guess.

Today is Maundy Thursday. It is a day for remembrance.

On Maundy Thursday, we especially remember the Last Supper.

Jesus and his disciples were in Jerusalem at the Passover, the great festival when Jews, then and now, remember God liberating them from Egyptian slavery.

At this particular Passover, Jerusalem was full of Jewish pilgrims from all over, and the mood in the occupied city was a combustible mix of hope and anxiety.

And what about the mood in the room where Jesus and his friends have gathered?

Well, even for the thickheaded disciples, maybe the hard truth was finally beginning to settle in: Jesus, their friend and Lord, was about to suffer and die.

Jesus certainly knew that time is running out.

And so the Master Teacher offered a couple of lessons – lessons that he must have hoped would be unforgettable.

Jesus blessed the bread and wine – told his friends that this was his body and blood – broken and poured out for them – and he told them to continue gathering around the table in memory of him. 

And then there was the second lesson.

The Evangelist John tells us that Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

How shocking that must have been! 

Peter certainly wasn’t having it – at least, not at first.

Jesus commands his followers to follow his example and wash each other’s feet, to offer humble and loving service to one another.

Who knows, after getting their feet washed by the Lord, maybe James and John finally gave up their ambition for the best seats in the house!

Today is a day for remembrance.

The Church never forgot the Last Supper, of course.

We’ve continued gathering around the Table.

And we’ve never quite forgotten the foot-washing, either – it’s in the Bible, after all, and we retell the story every year on this day.

But I wonder if we have truly remembered Jesus’ humble act of loving service – I wonder if we’ve truly remembered the call to wash each other’s feet?

I mean, if we had truly remembered, how could we have come up with - and even blessed (!) - something like the Doctrine of Discovery and all the other awful things Christians have done and continue to do?

We are commanded – it’s the mandatum that gives Maundy Thursday its name – we are commanded to love one another as Jesus has loved us.

Instead of hurting others, we are meant to wash their feet.

Today is a day for remembrance.

Near the end of this evening’s service we will “strip the altar,” removing just about everything. 

And finally, we will bring the Body and Blood of Christ to our beautiful little Altar of Repose, symbolizing the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus wept and prayed on the night before his arrest, before all that was to come.

But, this evening, in our own time of hope and anxiety, before we move onto the rest of Holy Week and the great joy of Easter, let’s really try to get it.

With God’s help, let’s truly remember what Jesus the foot-washer teaches us, what Jesus commands us:

Love one another.

Love and Sacrifice

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 2, 2023

Year A: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Matthew 21:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 27:11-54

Love and Sacrifice

If we’ve done our job right, you should be feeling a little unsettled right now.

Maybe a lot unsettled.

Because today is the most unsettling day of the Christian year.

Many of us began today’s journey outside.

Unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we knew that our journey would lead quickly to the Cross.  And yet, there was still a sense of excitement and, even, strangely enough, joy.

Everyone loves a parade, after all, and the presence of two donkeys made it even more fun.

So, like the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we carried and waved our palms, we sang our hosannas, and we made our way.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was a city shaken by turmoil.

The Jewish people chafed under oppressive Roman rule.

And, especially during the days before Passover when Jewish pilgrims arrived from all over, there was an unsettled air in the city – a combustible mix of hope and anxiety. The unsettled people dared to hope that their God of liberation was about to act again.

Just as God had freed God’s people from slavery in Egypt, just as God had returned God’s people from exile in Babylon, maybe God was about to overthrow the Romans and put a new king on Israel’s throne.

No surprise, there were some would-be messiahs around, eagerly auditioning for the part of savior.

But some people thought that this Jesus of Nazareth just might be that new and long-awaited king.

Now, it’s true that he was from out in the sticks and he clearly was not a mighty warrior, but hadn’t he given sight to the man born blind and hadn’t he raised Lazarus from the dead?

And, besides, everybody knew that God had a long history of choosing highly unlikely and seemingly unqualified people for the biggest jobs.

So, maybe, just maybe, these unsettled people thought, maybe Jesus was their King, finally entering his capital city.

Well, the mood in the city quickly changed.

The Jewish authorities were desperate to keep an uneasy peace with the Roman occupiers, a peace threatened by talk of Jesus as King of the Jews.

And the Romans – Pontius Pilate sounds kind of wishy-washy in the Passion Story but the historical reality was quite different – the Romans probably calculated that Jesus and his band of followers were no threat to their power – but it was their practice to brutally crush any sign of protest or dissent, a pointed warning to any troublemakers.

The unsettled people quickly realized that Jesus of Nazareth was not going to lead an army into battle and drive the Romans into the sea.

Instead, to everyone’s disappointment and disgust, Jesus submitted to Roman authority.

And, since no one likes a loser, the people turned against him.

And Jesus, abandoned by his friends, mocked and rejected, feeling forsaken by everybody, maybe even by God the Father, died a horrifying and shameful death on a cross, beside two bandits.

And that was the end of the story.

Or so it seemed.

Each year on this day, and during the week ahead, we remember the events in Jerusalem two thousand years ago.

We use symbolic actions like carrying palms and participating in the Passion Story not as some kind of historical reenactment but as a way for us to enter into the story as fully as we can.

To be honest, this year I find that it doesn’t take much effort to enter into this story, because, just like the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, I feel unsettled. 

We, too, live in a land shaken by turmoil.  

Just about every day, we are reminded that there are many angry, frightened, disturbed, and armed-to-the-teeth people all around us – people who, on a regular and sickening basis, act on their delusions and hatreds, act on the lies they’ve been so cynically fed, and they take innocent life – innocent life at the Covenant School in Nashville, innocent life at so many other schools, and at houses of worship and movie theaters and clubs – not to mention the lives violently taken on the streets and in the homes of Baltimore and in cities and towns across our land.

And, almost as terrifying as the violence itself, we are growing numb to it, becoming fatalistic – we hear and maybe even believe that there’s nothing to be done, this problem just can’t be fixed – so, arm yourselves and circle the wagons – and, maybe, let’s falsely blame some of the most vulnerable people among us as the source of all our trouble.

And so, in our unsettled time, in our land shaken by turmoil, some of us look for a would-be messiah - someone to solve our problems, to drive out our enemies, to return us to bygone days of supposed glory.

But as Christians – and two thousand years after the events in Jerusalem – we really should know better by now.

There is no savior but Jesus – King Jesus riding a humble donkey – riding among us unsettled people, riding right into our place of turmoil.

King Jesus offers only himself.

King Jesus offers only love and sacrifice.

Let’s face it, love and sacrifice - that never gets the crowds pumped up. But it’s the only way – it’s the only way out of the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.

King Jesus calls us to follow his example, to offer ourselves, because it is truly the only way to new life. 

Today we feel so unsettled and our land is in turmoil.

But, despite our many troubles, we must not lose hope. 

After all, two thousand years ago, the people of Jerusalem were sure that they had seen the last of Jesus of Nazareth. 

Amen.

The Unbinding

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 26, 2023

Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

The Unbinding

Well, the holy season of Lent is really winding down now.

Ready or not, Palm Sunday is next week.

And in just two weeks, we’ll gather with Mary Magdalene outside the empty tomb and celebrate the great joy of Easter.

These last Lenten days are still about repentance – and there’s always time to take on a new practice or give up something that separates us from God – but now we’re clearly turning our attention to what God always offers us:

New life.

In our Old Testament lesson, we heard a passage from the Prophet Ezekiel.

Ezekiel lived during the 6th Century BCE, a time of defeat and exile for the people of Israel, a time when for many it seemed like all hope was lost. 

But, as we heard, God offers Ezekiel vivid vision of new life.

God leads Ezekiel into a valley of dry bones, of very dry bones – a place of death, a land without hope.

In such a bleak place, God asks Ezekiel what must have seemed a bizarre question:

“Mortal, can these bones live?”

Ezekiel gives the only sensible reply: “O Lord God, you know.”

And then, while we might have expected God to simply do the work of creating new life, instead God calls Ezekiel to prophesy – to prophesy to these dry bones – to prophesy to the breath – and with lots of rattling, suddenly there was new life – and the promise of even more new life to come.

The call to new life.

In last week’s gospel lesson, we heard the story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind.

And now today, in yet another lengthy reading from the Gospel of John, we heard the story of an even greater sign – perhaps Jesus’ greatest sign of all – a sign of new life – a call to new life – Jesus raises his beloved friend Lazarus from the dead.

There’s a lot going on here, isn’t there?

The story begins with Jesus acting in a kind of curious way. He’s received word that Lazarus is ill. But rather than rushing to Bethany to be at his friend’s side, rather than trying to get to Lazarus as quickly as possible to offer healing, Jesus postpones the trip for two days.

Right from the start, Jesus recognizes that this isn’t so much about Lazarus and his illness, just like last week’s story wasn’t so much about the blind man.

No, the man’s blindness and Lazarus’ death provide an opportunity for signs – for signs of God’s glory.

As usual, the disciples don’t exactly distinguish themselves in this story. Except for Thomas, they’re afraid to go to Judea – John writes that they were afraid of “the Jews” who had tried to kill Jesus.

This provides yet another opportunity for a reminder that Jesus and his disciples were all Jews – and back in the first century, some Jews followed Jesus and others did not, and some among the Jewish leadership saw Jesus as a threat. 

Anyway, Jesus finally arrives at the sad scene – and we learn that he’s certainly too late to save Lazarus, who’s been in the tomb four days now – this is no deep coma. He’s really dead.

Mary and Martha are understandably grief-stricken at the death of their brother, but even in their sadness they express some faith in Jesus. They believe that if the Lord had been there, Lazarus would still be alive.

But surely the only hope now is the resurrection on the last day.

Gathered with Mary and Martha and the others, this is one of those moments when Jesus expresses deep emotion. 

Even if Jesus is certain about what’s about to happen, it’s hard to witness so much suffering and sadness, especially among some of your closest friends.

And maybe Jesus heard some of the grumbling that if he could give sight to the blind surely he could have healed whatever ailed Lazarus.

And maybe Jesus’ emotion is also, in part, frustration – frustration at his disciples who never seem to get it no matter how many times he teaches them – frustration even at the grief-stricken Mary and Martha, with whom he was so close and yet he still had to tell them, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Well, in the midst of so much emotion, and after a brief prayer, Jesus gives the shocking command to roll away the stone.

And then, there’s the even more shocking call to the dead man to come out of his tomb.

The call to new life.

This sign is not just for Lazarus and everyone else gathered around his tomb two thousand years ago, but it’s a sign for us here today, a sign that Jesus offers new life – calls us to new life - not just on the last day but right here and right now.

And then there is one last little detail that’s easy to miss.

After raising Lazarus from the dead, Jesus tells “them” to unbind Lazarus and let him go.

And who exactly is “them”?

Well, in this case, “them” would be “us.”

There are half-dead people all around us who are bound, bound just as Lazarus was bound – bound by fear and despair, bound by illness and addiction, bound by regret and hate.

But, right here and now, Jesus offers new life.

And Jesus invites us to be part of the liberation, to unbind people from the constraints of suffering and death, to set them free.

The call to new life.

And what does that look like here at St. Thomas’?

Well, it’s our many outreach efforts, of course.

It’s welcoming our Afghan friends.

It’s reaching out to one another, people we know are going through a hard time, or maybe people we haven’t seen for a while.

And, most of all, we play our part in unbinding people from the constraints of suffering and death through our prayers.

When I was a seminarian I served for a time at a church called House of Prayer. It’s an Episcopal church, though it doesn’t sound like it, right?

It’s my all time favorite church name because it is nearly impossible for the people of House of Prayer to forget what’s most important – that we are meant to be people of prayer, that we are meant to continue bathing these old walls with our prayers.

I’ve been thinking about prayer more than usual because of the changes we’re making to our Parish Prayer List – that weekly reminder of just how many people are counting on our prayers.

And I’ve also been thinking about prayer more than usual because so many people have been asking for my prayers – prayers for healing, prayers for a good prognosis, prayers for a way when there seems to be no way.

And with all of these prayer requests, with all of this desire for prayer, have you ever wondered about the how and why of prayer?

I mean, God already knows what’s best for us, right?

So why pray?

Our friend Sam Shoemaker said, “Prayer may not change things for you, but it sure changes you for things.”

I like that.

But my favorite explanation about prayer comes from Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury.

God could just go it alone, just be a solo act, but Williams suggests that this isn’t God’s way – that just like God called Ezekiel to prophesy to the old dry bones, just like Jesus called “them” to unbind Lazarus, God wants us to pray, so that we can be part of the grace, part of the blessing. 

Lent is drawing to a close, but, no matter the season, God always calls us to new life.

And especially in a time when so many people are bound in so many ways, God invites us to be part of the unbinding, through our works – and through our prayers.

Amen.

To See as God Sees

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 19, 2023

Year A: The Fourth Sunday in Lent

1 Samuel 16:1-13

Psalm 23

Ephesians 5:8-14

John 9:1-41

To See as God Sees

Back in the early 1990’s, I taught history at St. Vincent Academy, an all-girls Roman Catholic high school in Newark, New Jersey.

The Sisters of Charity founded St. Vincent’s back in the 19th Century to educate the Catholic girls of Newark and the surrounding towns.

In the late 1960s, after years of factory closings and white flight to the suburbs and especially after the 1967 uprising that devastated much of the city, particularly the area around St. Vincent’s called the Central Ward, the Sisters and their lay co-workers faced a choice:

To stay in the wounded city, continuing to educate Newark’s girls, or to close or move, like many other institutions of the city.

With great faithfulness and courage, and to their eternal credit, the leaders of St. Vincent’s chose to stay, and have been there ever since.

Fast-forward to sometime around late 1991 or early 1992.

I had applied for a position as a history teacher, a midyear replacement for a teacher who had gotten sick.

On the day of my job interview, I remember riding the bus from Newark Penn Station up to the school. I remember looking out the window and seeing the urban mix: a still bustling but frayed around the edges downtown, a fairly new and still shiny community college, a stately old courthouse - but also block after block of vast rubble-strewn lots with a few crumbling houses here and there.

Not for the last time in my life, I wondered what I was getting myself into! 

Eventually the bus rounded the corner and there was St. Vincent’s, a red brick 19th Century building up on a small rise, looking like a well cared-for sanctuary, or maybe better, a beacon - shining hope - shining the light of Christ into the suffering city.

During that long-ago day of interviews and meetings, I spent a lot of time with one of the school’s administrators, Sister June.

It’s all mostly a blur to me now, but I do recall that at one point Sister June said that I must always remember that each of my students, each of these girls, was absolutely precious to at least someone – a parent or a grandparent, someone.

Sister June said that should be the way that I saw my students: as precious, as loved.

June didn’t put it quite this way but what she was really saying was that I should see my students as God sees them.

To see as God sees.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, Samuel learned something about seeing as God sees.

Samuel had been given an important assignment: to anoint a new king.

This task was made even more challenging and difficult by the fact that the old king, Saul, was still alive and on the throne.

Anyway, God sent Samuel to anoint one of Jesse’s sons as new king.

Reasonably enough, Jesse presents his sons in age order, starting with the oldest. He’d be the expected choice and he certainly seems to look the part.

But God says no – God keeps saying no until there are no more sons left. Oh, wait, there is the youngest, David, such an unlikely choice that he had been left out in the field tending the sheep.

Surely, he won’t be king, right?

To see as God sees.

And then today’s lengthy and rich gospel lesson is all about seeing – and not seeing.

We begin with the disciples noticing the man born blind who was forced to beg, but they don’t see him as a person but only as a consequence of sin.

But that’s not how Jesus sees him – he sees him as a way for God’s glory to shine.

So, without the blind man even asking for healing – I mean, who would even dare to hope for such a thing – Jesus gives this man the gift of sight.

The formerly blind can now see the world around him.

The formerly blind man sees that God has worked a powerful sign in and through Jesus.

And by the end of the story, the formerly blind man sees so well that he has become a disciple.

As for the other characters in this story, well, their vision is not so good.

The neighbors, which have probably never paid much mind to this blind beggar – he was probably just part of the background of their lives – they’re not quite sure that it’s the same man.

What did he look like anyway?

And then there are the Pharisees. Most (but not all) of them view this remarkable healing as… an opportunity to put Jesus on trial. They focus on a possible Sabbath violation while somehow missing the wonderful sign that has just occurred.

My God, a man born blind now can see!

The man’s parents do a little better. At least they know and admit that he’s their son. But then they kind of throw him under the bus (“Ask him, he is of age. He will speak for himself.”), supposedly because they feared the Jews, who would cast out any Jesus followers from the synagogue. 

Now, I have to pause right there and remind us that everyone in this story – Jesus, his disciples, the neighbors, the man born blind and his parents, the Pharisees – everyone in this story is a Jew.

We have to remember this because so often the Church has forgotten, and texts like this have been used to justify horrific anti-Semitism.

Especially as we get closer to Holy Week, we have to remember that the Gospels do not tell the story of Jews vs. Christians. No, this is a disagreement among first century Jews, some of whom will accept Jesus as the messiah, while others will not.

But the heart of today’s story isn’t really disagreement about healing on the Sabbath – it’s about sight – it’s about seeing as God sees.

And, as Christians, we don’t have to wonder about how God sees.

In and through Jesus, we know that God sees the Samaritan woman at the well, with her complicated past and unconventional present, an outcast from her own community, God sees her as precious.

In and through Jesus, we know that God sees the blind beggar as precious.

In and through Jesus, we know that God sees the girls of Newark, the kids of Baltimore, and children everywhere as precious.

And God invites us – commands us - to see as God sees.

So, to be totally honest with you, I’ve struggled with today’s sermon.

Today is the Fourth Sunday in Lent, often called “Laetare Sunday,” from a Latin word meaning “to rejoice.”

Today we switch liturgical colors from purple to rose as a signal that Lent is starting to wind down and soon we will once again experience the joy of Easter.

But, our country and world don’t seem so joyful these days, do they?

Most days, our country feels like it’s coming apart at the seams. Like the blind man's neighbors, we seem barely able to see each other at all, forget about seeing as God sees. The days ahead are going to be quite difficult. And, no matter our political point of view, how can we not dread the next presidential election?

I’ve struggled with today’s sermon because I don’t want it to sound like pie-in-the-sky church talk.

Seeing as God sees – to view each human being as absolutely precious and of infinite worth – this is not just some nice goal we should to aspire to.

No, seeing as God sees is essential to our survival.

And, despite our many troubles, I can still rejoice, at least a little, because I have learned that, with God’s help, it really is possible for us to see as God sees.

It’s a lesson I learned long ago in Newark, from sisters and their co-workers, who refused to give into fear.

Instead, they chose to stay and to teach and, most of all, to see as God sees.

Amen.

The Counter-Cultural Messiah

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 12, 2023

Year A: The Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 17:1-7

Psalm 95

Romans 5:1-11

John 4:5-42

The Counter-Cultural Messiah

As you probably know, March is Women’s History Month.

And, not only that, but this past Wednesday, March 8, was International Women’s Day.

And, especially this year, as women’s rights and safety are threatened both here in our country and in many places around the world, it was especially moving to see so many people on social media posting photos of women who have shaped history, or who have just touched our lives.

On Wednesday, on International Women’s Day, our friend Dawn Eden Goldstein, the author of Father Ed, posted a quote that caught my eye and that I’ve been thinking about ever since.

It’s not a quote from a woman, but by another 20th Century Jesuit priest, someone previously unknown to me.

Based in Louisiana, back in the middle part of the last century, Fr. Louis Twomey was active in the fight for social justice and civil rights. And here’s his quote that caught my eye:

“All of us must certainly regret the tragedy of even having to talk about human rights after two thousand years of Christianity.”

I’m going to repeat that:

“All of us must certainly regret the tragedy of even having to talk about human rights after two thousand years of Christianity.”

Those powerful and haunting words echoed through my head as I reflected on today’s extraordinary (and extraordinarily long) Gospel lesson: Jesus and his disciples are in Samaria, and, while the disciples are off getting food, Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman at a well.

Because of the famous parable, we tend to think of Samaritans as “good,” but that would not have been the general feeling among Jesus’ people.

There was longstanding tension between Jews and Samaritans. Although they shared some history and the first five books of the Bible, they disagreed about lots of things, especially worship.

But there’s Jesus, not only in Samaria, but alone with a Samaritan woman – and not just any Samaritan woman but one who, we learn, has a complicated marital history and, let’s say, an “irregular” current relationship with a man, a man who is not her husband.

There’s Jesus alone with a Samaritan woman who, it seems, is an outcast in her own community.

Generally, people in hot climates draw water from wells early in the morning or later in the day, not under the scorching midday sun.

And they travel in groups, both for safety and companionship.

But this woman is alone, and quite shocked and confused that this Jewish man has appeared, asking her for a drink.

When she understandably hesitates at the oddness of this situation and request, Jesus begins to reveal his identity to her. Jesus says:

“If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.’”

And I love her reply:

“Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?”

In other words, “living water” is pretty big talk for a guy with no bucket who just asked a Samaritan woman for a drink.

But, unlike Nicodemus who we met last week, unlike that teacher and leader of Israel who came to Jesus under the cover of dark, this woman – this outcast woman – she doesn’t try to figure it all out. All she knows is that living water sounds really good, if for no other reason than it will save her this daily trip to the well.

Jesus then seems to play a little bit, telling her to go call her husband. But, when she answers honestly, Jesus doesn’t condemn her – he praises her honesty!

And when Jesus reveals even more about her situation, she doesn’t run away in shame or terror, but she remains – courageous – recognizing that she is in the presence of a prophet.

And then, there’s the most remarkable moment of all.

The woman said to Jesus, “I know that Messiah is coming.”

And Jesus said, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Right here, for the first time in the Gospel of John, Jesus reveals his true identity – not to his often-bumbling and confused disciples – not to the teacher and leader Nicodemus, but to a Samaritan woman – to an outcast several times over.

And what does she do with this information?

She doesn’t guard it like a secret.

She doesn’t hold it close like her own personal treasure. 

No, she immediately goes to the city, to a place probably filled with people who know her whole story and who have judged and disdained her, people who are glad that she goes to the well alone – she goes to the city and she testifies about Jesus. 

And, amazingly enough, a whole bunch of Samaritans, of all people, come to believe that Jesus is the Savior of the world.

What a story, right?

And, although this is an extraordinary encounter, it’s just one example of how countercultural Jesus lived his life and how he revealed God’s love.

The Good News wasn’t just for learned and powerful men like Nicodemus, but for everybody, very much including women – women like the Samaritan at the well – women like the sisters Mary and Martha – and, most of all, Mary Magdalene, who, on Easter morning, will echo the Samaritan woman when she rushes to tell the others that she had seen the Risen Lord.  

Knowing all that, it is such a tragedy that it didn’t take too long for the Church to conveniently forget its countercultural roots, to become so much like the culture around it. 

The Church quickly downplayed and restricted the roles of women.

The Church quickly forgot that we are meant to not only offer charity to the poor and the outcast but to welcome them into our community, to love them, and to share our greatest treasures with them.

Some of you may have seen the Christian TV commercials called “He Gets Us.” In certain circles, those ads caused quite a stir, a controversy which I’m definitely not getting into now.

However, at least one person noted that it’s not Jesus who needs a public relations overhaul – the Jesus who spoke with the Samaritan woman at the well – his reputation is just fine.

Not, it’s the Church that’s in trouble – the Church that forgot its countercultural roots and is now rejected by many for its hypocrisy, cruelty, its seeming irrelevance, and so many scandals.

But, just like Jesus and the Samaritan woman, we are not prisoners of our history. 

With God’s help, we can really put into practice our Baptismal Covenant – seeking and serving Christ in everybody – respecting the dignity of every human being – loving our neighbor – yes, even the Samaritans – as ourselves.

And, if we do that, maybe, someday, human rights will simply be a given, and there will be no need to talk about them again.

May it be so.

Amen.

The Journey to New Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 5, 2023

Year A: The Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a

Psalm 121

Romans 4:1-5, 13-17

John 3:1-17

The Journey to New Life

When you’re a professional church person like me, Sundays can often blend into each other. But last Sunday was one that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

First, we had a wonderful, and rather brisk, annual meeting. It was a time to share lots of good news – an opportunity to tell the story of renewal here at St. Thomas’.

So, that was great.

But then, on Sunday evening, a bunch of us attended a most beautiful supper, right here in our Parish Hall.

We had invited everyone who has been involved in the Afghan Project to enjoy a meal together – our own parishioners and the parishioners of St. Mark’s On the Hill – as well as members of the two local synagogues who are also sponsoring Afghans – and of course our new Afghan friends themselves.

Just like anytime you welcome guests – especially guests we don’t know well – there was some nervousness on our part.

We worried, were we serving the right kinds of food and would there be enough for everybody?

Since we come from different backgrounds and have different traditions, would we all get along OK? Would someone inadvertently say or do something offensive to others?

And, the biggest question of them all: would people actually show up?

Well, as usual, there was no cause for worry.

As I was concluding the 5:00 service, I glanced out the window and saw that our guests were pulling into the parking lot and making their way into the hall.

Everyone stuck on their nametags and began mixing and mingling, introducing themselves, and, over and over, marveling at how blessed we all have been to welcome strangers, to make new friends. 

There was lots of laughter echoing through the room and a gaggle of kids running around, having a blast.

The food was delicious and plentiful – there was even ice cream for dessert!

At one point, I looked around and thought, what a journey we have been on – a journey that has brought together Jews, Christians, and Muslims – a journey that gathered these children of Abraham to break bread in love and peace and gratitude.

Jesus often said, “The Kingdom of God is like…”

Well, the Kingdom of God is like our beautiful supper.

The Kingdom of God is like taking a journey together – a journey to new life.

In today’s first lesson, from the Book of Genesis, we heard the very beginning of our journey.

God issues a history-changing call and makes an eternal promise to Abram (later renamed Abraham). 

God’s call is a call to leave the familiarity and comfort of home and journey to an unknown land. God promises to bless Abram. God promises that Abram will be a blessing to uncountable multitudes.

Of course, the true miracle of the story is that Abram answers God’s call - he believes in God’s promise – and he makes the journey to new life.

And then in today’s gospel lesson, we meet someone else who is on the journey to new life: Nicodemus.

We’re told he’s a Pharisee – he’s a teacher and a leader among his people. And he’s someone who is drawn to Jesus – intrigued by this Teacher who has clearly been sent by God.

But, Nicodemus is not quite as bold as Abram – at least, not yet.

We’re told that he visits Jesus under the cover of night – maybe that’s because he’s afraid to be seen by others – maybe it’s because he’s been pondering Jesus all day and finally decided to go ask for himself – or maybe his night visit symbolizes that he’s still in the shadows of confusion and uncertainty.

I love this nighttime conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus, especially the Pharisee’s almost comical misunderstanding of what Jesus is saying.

Jesus speaks of rebirth and new life… and Nicodemus wonders how this might be possible.

The teacher Nicodemus seems unwilling or unable to learn. Even Jesus the Great Teacher does not get through to him, at least not yet.

If you read this passage carefully, you’ll see that eventually Nicodemus just sort of fades away. Maybe he was still there, silenced by all that he was hearing.

Or maybe he walked off, shaking his head in confusion, still wandering in the shadows, his journey continuing.

But, as Nicodemus fades away, Jesus begins teaching all of us.

He offers what has become the most famous and popular of all Bible verses – John 3:16 – a one-sentence summary of the Christian faith:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

And then that’s followed by John 3:17, which is just as important and should be just as well known:

“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Long ago, God issued a history-changing call to Abram – the call to leave the familiarity and comfort of home and journey to an unknown land.

God promised to bless Abram – and God promised that Abram will be a blessing to multitudes.

Abram answered God’s call – he believed in God’s promise – and he made the journey to new life.

God also called Nicodemus, drawing him from shadow to light – revealing that God loves the world and wants to save the world and not condemn it.

And I believe that in our time of trouble, when fear and hate and cruelty and violence are on the march, God is also calling us – not to leave Baltimore, necessarily, but to leave behind familiarity and comfort and to set out on a journey to new life.

God promises to bless us, and promises that we will be a blessing

And, you know, every once in a while we get a glimpse of our final destination, we get a taste of new life - like last Sunday evening, when the children of Abraham – Jews, Christians, and Muslims – overcame fear and uncertainty, and moved beyond our complicated often painful past and our many cultural differences.

We gathered in love and friendship, breaking bread together, enjoying a feast with more than enough for everybody, dwelling in God’s kingdom.

God loves the world and loves us. 

And, especially during Lent but always, God calls us on a journey to new life, promising to be with us for every step.

Amen.