Making An Old Way New Again

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 17, 2023

Year B: The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

Canticle 15: The Song of Mary

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Making An Old Way New Again

Last Monday evening, after getting over Covid, I attended a very impressive event at Greater Harvest Baptist Church on Saratoga Street, in West Baltimore.

It was an action hosted by BUILD (“Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development”), which has been doing the hard and good work of community organizing in Baltimore for decades.

As you may have seen in the paper or on the news, BUILD has partnered with the City and with the Greater Baltimore Committee on a bold plan to address the thousands of vacant properties in Baltimore City – buildings that are dangerous and drag down entire neighborhoods.  

I’m really not knowledgeable enough to evaluate the merits of the plan, but it was inspiring to be with well over 500 people – Christians, Muslims, Jews, other people of goodwill – who remain committed to a city that has suffered so much for so long.

Now, it just so happens that BUILD is a sister organization of Jersey City Together, which I was involved with back home.

And so on Monday, I was once again reminded of the similarities between Baltimore and my hometown. 

Just like there are two Baltimores – some prosperous and beautiful neighborhoods and also areas of near-total devastation and despair – there are two Jersey Citys – there’s the impossibly expensive real estate along the Hudson River – the Gold Coast, it’s sometimes called - and an inner city that continues to struggle with familiar and persistent and heartbreaking problems.

Both Baltimore and Jersey City were once industrial powerhouses, providing reliable, if often dangerous and tedious, blue collar employment to many thousands of people.

And both cities were once great railroad towns.

Just a few decades ago, what is now the Gold Coast was occupied by half-abandoned rail yards and warehouses. And a few decades before that, every day many thousands of people poured into Jersey City on the Jersey Central, the B & O, the Pennsylvania, and other once mighty railroads – and then hopped on a ferry over to New York.

Maybe some of you remember doing just that.

In the neighborhood where I grew up there was a little spur line, just a couple of blocks from our house.

As a kid, it was always exciting when the railroad crossing bells would ring and a freight train would rumble by.

Today that’s all gone – all that’s left is an irregularly-sized strip of land, a kind of no man’s land where I’m sure kids hang out, just like some kids hung out “on the tracks” when I was little.

So, this is a longwinded way of saying, maybe it was inevitable that I would be interested in trains.

Back in the 90’s I spent a lot of time traveling around different parts of New Jersey, photographing remnants of the Jersey Central Railroad.

And now thanks to the Internet, it’s possible to belong to different online groups of people with similar interests, abandoned rail lines, old train stations.

I recently find one group that’s a little different, though.

Rather than documenting railroad ruins, instead of discovering relics of long lost routes, this group is documenting the surprising rebirth of a line in New Jersey that has been out of service for decades – it’s called the Freehold Secondary.

And so for several months, from afar, I’ve been watching this amazing progress, as brush was cleared and old tracks and ties removed, as gravel ballast and new ties and tracks have been firmly planted, getting ready for the trains that will be rolling again soon.

The workers have been making a way – not a new way – but making an old way new again.

Making an old way new again.

Today, on the Third Sunday of Advent, we switch our liturgical color from blue to rose.

It’s a symbolic lightening up, signaling that the Advent days of preparation are drawing to a close.

Rejoice, because soon – very soon, actually – it will be Christmas!

This week we get to spend a little more time with John the Baptist, the powerful prophet who declared it was time to repent – time to turn around - because the Kingdom of God was drawing near.

John the Baptist fascinates me because then, as now, people really didn’t like being told they were on the wrong track. But John doesn’t sugarcoat his message – not at all – and yet the people still come in huge numbers.

Deep down, they know they’re heading the wrong direction – they know that they need a new start.

Well, no surprise, John’s big crowds drew the notice of the religious authorities in Jerusalem. And, as we heard in today’s gospel lesson, they send a fact-finding mission to learn just what John is up to.

And what they learn is that John is not Elijah and he’s also not the Messiah.

John declares his mission by quoting the Prophet Isaiah. John is the one crying out in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”

John prepares the way of Jesus by cutting down the weeds of sin and delusion.

John prepares the way of Jesus by calling people to repent – to change their ways – to be dunked in the River Jordan and begin anew.

John prepares the way of Jesus.

And the other main Advent character, the Virgin Mary, whose song we said today in place of a psalm, she prepares the way of Jesus by quite literally carrying him into the world - into a cold and inhospitable world, carrying the Son of God into a world where the powers that be are out to get him, right from the start.

And later, after the first Easter morning, the way of Jesus – the way of love and sacrifice - will be well traveled by the apostles and by Christians down through the ages, including the hearty and faithful band of “forest inhabitants” who built this beautiful church on the highest ground they could find.

But, you know, the way of Jesus – the way of love and sacrifice – is kind of like a railroad right-of-way. 

If the trains stop running, if maintenance is deferred, the weeds quickly take over, burying and hiding the tracks.

And it’s the same with the way of Jesus.

If we neglect the way, it too can be buried, lost, and forgotten.

Over the past couple of years, one of the key themes here at St. Thomas’ has been renewal.

We haven’t invented a new way.

Kind of like those workers laying track on the Freehold Secondary, we have made an old way new again.

With God’s help, of course.

We made an old way new again at the Christmas Extravaganza on Tuesday night, following a tradition that’s now more than two decades old, but which this year noticeably included quite a few new people, new to outreach, new to the parish, who brought their own gifts and ideas.

We made an old way new again by reimagining our Youth Confirmation program, making it less like school and more of an experience – giving our wonderful young people the opportunity to not just learn about the church but to be the church, to be who they really are.

And, I’d suggest the BUILD action on Monday night was making an old way new again – Christians and people of other faiths or maybe no faith but goodwill, gathering together to endorse a kind of complicated plan which may or may not work, we’ll see, but really we gathered to choose hope – choosing Advent hope even in the midst of so much fear and despair.

This is the way of Jesus.

This is the way of love and service.

It’s the way prepared by the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist.

It’s an old way that we are called to make new again.

Amen.

Putting On the Armor of Light

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 3, 2023

Year B: The First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 64:1-9

Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Mark 13:24-37

Putting On the Armor of Light

I’ve mentioned to you before that I am a big believer in the value of weekday worship.

It’s a lesson that I learned way back at the first church I served as an assistant – a church that offered at least one service of public worship every single day of the year.

Frankly, when I first arrived there that devotion to weekday worship amazed me, and now, after being rector of a couple of churches, it still does.

Although relatively few people attended most of those services – and sometimes it was just the officiant praying alone – I came to appreciate the spiritual value of that daily discipline – the way all of that prayer changes us, in ways both visible and invisible, known and unknown.

And daily worship has a symbolic value, too. 

It reminds us that the Christian life is more than something we do for an hour or so on Sundays.

No, following Jesus a 24/7 undertaking, the commitment and adventure of a lifetime.

And, finally, offering weekday services is just good stewardship.

We really should use our holy and beautiful and expensive to maintain buildings more than just once or twice a week.

So, one of my goals has been to reintroduce weekday worship to St. Thomas’, which we did first by adding the Service of Holy Communion and Anointing on Wednesdays at noon and then introducing Morning Prayer on Thursdays at 9:00.

I’ve hoped that eventually we might actually have one service every single day.

I’m playing kind of a long game here, so I’ve assumed that this would take a while.

But then, world events intervened.

As most of you know, when war broke out between Hamas and Israel, some of us felt the call to step up our prayer life.

While it’s true that armed conflicts are always raging in different places around the world, this particular war seemed extra dangerous, running the risk of sparking a wider war in the Middle East.

This horrible war also released – or maybe simply uncovered – the old demons of anti-Semitism and Islamophobia.

This brutal conflict and the suffering of so many innocent people tempted so some of us to dehumanize the “other side” – forgetting that we are all beloved children of God – our blood and our tears are made of the same stuff.

And so, we stepped up our prayer life by offering The Great Litany, Monday through Friday at noon in the Old School Building.

I chose the Litany because this is a prayer that people have prayed for centuries, especially in times of crisis.

It’s also an exceptionally comprehensive prayer. 

In the Litany, we ask God to deliver us “from all blindness of heart; from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy; from envy, hatred, and malice; and from all want of charity.”

We ask God to “make wars to cease in all the world; to give to all nations unity, peace, and concord; and to bestow freedom upon all peoples.”

And we beseech God “to have mercy upon all mankind.”

I also chose the Litany because it’s easy: it was already right there in the Prayer Book – no creativity or bulletins were required - and it only takes about twelve minutes to pray aloud, which seemed manageable.

I wasn’t entirely sure if anyone would show up, but most days there has been at least one other person in the Old School Building and for the last few days a good friend of mine, Tina, has been joining us on Zoom all the way from Tallahassee.

Sam Shoemaker once wrote, “Prayer may not change things for you, but it sure changes you for things.”

“Prayer may not change things for you, but it sure changes you for things.”

And that’s been my experience of praying the Great Litany over these weeks.

I can’t say that the world is in any better shape because of our prayers, though you never know.

But, I can feel a difference in me – a renewed strength to face the future – a deepened confidence that God is present with us even when everything is a mess, even when the shadows grow very deep.

In the words of today’s collect, our opening prayer, praying the Great Litany each weekday has felt like putting on the “armor of light.”

Today, the First Sunday of Advent, is the first day of a new church year.

And today, and during many Sundays this year, we’ll be reading and hearing from the Gospel of Mark.

Although, it’s placed after Matthew in the Bible, in fact Mark is the oldest of the four gospels.

The Gospel of Mark was written about forty years after the earthly lifetime of Jesus, right around the Year 70, the year when the Romans brutally sacked Jerusalem, destroying much of the city, including the Temple.

The Temple was where, in a sense, God was believed to dwell – it was where the Jewish people made sacrifices in order to keep their end of the Covenant – it was simply the heart of Jewish life.

And so its destruction was a horrible blow.

In a way that we can’t quite grasp, for Jews of that time, the destruction of the Temple must have seemed like the end of the world.

And at least some Jesus followers thought that the destruction of the Temple was surely a sign that Jesus was about to return, that the Last Day, the Day of Judgment had arrived.

But in his gospel written during this time of turmoil, Mark quotes Jesus as saying that, yes, awful and terrifying things are going to happen, but we do not know when the Last Day will arrive.

So, we need to be alert, to be prepared, to keep awake.

We live in a time of deep shadows.

After an all-too-brief ceasefire, after the release of some hostages, the war between Hamas and Israel has resumed, and the risk of a wider conflict remains – and the old demons of anti-Semitism and Islamophobia are still on the loose.

Russia’s assault on Ukraine grinds on, causing so much suffering, and also threatening a larger and even more devastating conflict.

Meanwhile, many of us face our own personal challenges and sorrows.

And across our country, rightly or wrongly, so many have lost trust in our institutions and leaders.

We’ve lost trust in each other.

And I still haven’t met anyone who’s excited about the next presidential election.

It’s tempting to give into despair.

But, God does not let go of us, no matter what.

And, while we may not know the future, we do know Jesus.

So, during Advent and always, we keep awake.

We offer loving service to people in need, as we will next week at the Christmas Extravaganza.

And, most of all, we pray – trusting that our prayers will change us - not just here on Sundays but every day – praying the Litany or in whatever way helps us feel God’s closeness.

In a time of deep shadows, we put on the armor of light.

Amen.

The King Who Serves and Begs

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 26, 2023

Year A, Proper 29: The Last Sunday after Pentecost – Christ the King

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

Psalm 100

Ephesians 1:15-23

Matthew 25:31-46

The King Who Serves and Begs

I doubt that any of us who were here on Monday afternoon will ever forget Sandy Martin’s funeral.

This church was just packed with people – we could not have squeezed anyone else into this place – and the overflow seating in the Parish Hall was, well, overflowing.

That extraordinary turnout was an appropriate tribute to such a good man, someone whose life was devoted to family, friends, and community.

And the touching and often funny remembrances by family and friends honored Sandy, and the beautiful music by Wanda and the choir helped to comfort us in our sorrow.

The gospel lesson we chose was the one we almost always use at funerals.

The setting is the Last Supper as Jesus tries to reassure his friends that death is not the end for him, not the end for their friendship, not the end of their love.

Jesus tells the disciples that he is going on ahead to prepare a place for them – and that they know the way to that place of reunion.

I always love that out of all the disciples it’s only our friend the Apostle Thomas who is brave enough – honest enough - to admit, “Lord, we do not know the way to the place where you are going.”

And then Thomas asks, “How can we know the way?”

And Jesus responds, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

I doubt that cleared things up much for Thomas and the others. 

But later, after the first Easter, after they knew that Jesus had in fact defeated death, the disciples must have reflected back to the Last Supper, recalling and better understanding the lessons Jesus had taught them.

Jesus had blessed the bread and wine, promising to be with them – to be with us – each time we gather around the table and remember him.

Jesus had shocked them by getting up from the table and washing their dirty and smelly feet – teaching them that this is what it looks like to follow him – that this is loving service – and commanding us to follow his example.

The way of Jesus is the way of love and sacrifice.

Christ is a King who serves.

Today we arrive at the last Sunday of the Church Year, the Last Sunday after Pentecost, the last Sunday of the little Pre-Advent season that we’ve been reflecting on during the last few weeks.

Today is the Feast of Christ the King.

During our Pre-Advent we’ve been reminded of the Last Day, the Day of Judgment.

We’ve been nudged to get going because we don’t have all the time in the world, and we certainly don’t want to be like the bridesmaids who failed to plan ahead and ran out of oil for their lamps.

And we certainly don’t want to be like the slave who was given one talent and buried it out of an abundance of caution and fear.

During our Pre-Advent we’ve been reminded that we will be judged and held accountable for how we have lived our lives, how we have shared our zillion blessings.

And that theme crescendos in today’s lesson from the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus teaches that the people in need – the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the imprisoned – they are Jesus himself.

The people in line early on a Saturday morning at the Community Crisis Center – the people who show up at Paul’s Place looking for a good meal and a fresh start – the children at Owings Mills Elementary School who don’t have their own bed or a kitchen table – they are in fact Christ the King himself.

At the Last Supper, Jesus dropped to his knees and washed the feet of his friends, doing the lowly, stinky work of a servant, teaching us that this is what love looks like.

Christ is the King who serves.

And today Jesus teaches us that he can be found in and among the people desperately looking for help.

Christ is the King who begs.

I’m not sure which image is more unsettling or more challenging.

For me, one of the highlights of the week is always our Wednesday service of Holy Communion and Anointing.

After the service, most of us stick around for Bible Study when we look at the upcoming Gospel lesson.

Because of Thanksgiving, last week our numbers were down a little but, as usual, we had a conversation that was thoughtful, lively, and challenging.

We talked about Jesus’ hard message of giving to people in need.

We wondered how to do that so we still had enough to sustain ourselves.

How can we give while also keeping ourselves safe in a world that is full of dangers?

I didn’t have any easy answers to those questions or concerns.

But, I did say that it’s not our place to decide who is deserving and undeserving of help – and that, at the very least, we should strive to really see the person who is asking for help – to see them as a person beloved by God – to see Christ present in and through them.

Big words, right?

Much easier to say than actually do.

So, my plan for after the Wednesday service was to make a few phone calls, catch up on a little paperwork, maybe try to straighten up my messy desk, and then head home early for a jump on Thanksgiving.

My office, as most of you know, gives me a good view of people making their way up to the office door.

And, on Wednesday afternoon as I was talking on the phone, I saw someone I didn’t recognize come along and ring the bell.

A minute or two later, our Parish Administrator Jane came to my door but saw that I was on the phone.

When I ended my conversation a couple of minutes later, Jane reappeared and said that the man I had seen coming up the walk was hoping to speak with me, looking for some help.

Jane said, he seems really nice and I hope you will help him.

So, I ushered the man into my office and we sat down across from each other.

I introduced myself and asked for his name.

He said, “Thomas,” which both made me smile… and also made me suspicious.

You’ve come to a church named for St. Thomas on a street named St. Thomas to talk to a priest named Thomas and your name is Thomas?

Hmm.

I asked what was going on and he told me his troubles – he had been laid off from his accounting job and he and his wife were having trouble providing for his two young children.

They had fallen behind on some bills, most especially their BGE bill.

Was it possible for us to offer him some help?

I confess that I asked him if he happened to have his BGE bill with him. No doubt anticipating that request, he did and handed it to me.

And, sure enough, there was a rather large amount past due.

And, of course, the name on the bill was “Thomas.” 

Long ago, a different Thomas thought that he did not know the way.

But he knew.

Jesus had taught him, just like Jesus teaches us, that the way is to follow his example, washing as many feet as we can - offering loving service.

And Jesus also teaches us that when we offer loving service, we’re not just helping the man behind on his bills, we’re offering loving service to Jesus himself.

The end of one year and the start of another are reminders that we do not have all the time in the world.

So, as we prepare to begin again, may we remember that:

Christ is the King who serves and Christ is the King who begs.

Amen.

Easter For Sandy

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 20, 2023

The Funeral of Alexander “Sandy” Martin

John 14:1-6a

Easter For Sandy

Looking out at the church just before I read the gospel lesson, I thought, “This looks just like Easter!”

And that’s what today is: Easter for Sandy.

The setting of the Bible passage that I read is the Last Supper.

Jesus has gathered with his closest friends for one, final meal.

Jesus had been predicting his death for some time but his friends could not – or would not – accept that someone they loved so much was going to die.

We know only too well what that’s like.

But at the table one last time, the hard truth was beginning to sink in.

And so, with time running out, Jesus teaches his friends a few most important lessons.

He gets up from the table and washes their feet, shocking them, teaching them that this is how we are to love one another, by serving each other.

Jesus blesses the bread and wine and says that this is his body and blood and that he will be with us each time we are at the table and we remember him.

And, finally, as we heard today, Jesus tries to reassure his friends that he is going on ahead to prepare a place for them – a place for us – where we will all someday be reunited.

And, not only that, Jesus says we know the way to the place where he is going.

It’s only our friend St. Thomas who is honest enough, bold enough, to admit, “Lord, we do not know the way to the place where you are going.”

And then Thomas asks, “How can we know the way?”

And Jesus gives the answer, “I am the way.”

For us, Jesus is the way – and the way of Jesus is giving away our lives in love and service.

Jesus is the way but the way of Jesus is not a one-size-fits-all way.

Just like all the saints of God in the charming hymn that we sang today – each of us has to discover our own unique way along the way.

That’s the challenge and adventure of faith and life.

As we’ve heard so powerfully in today’s beautiful remembrances, our beloved brother Sandy walked the way of Jesus by being an amazingly loving husband, father, and grandfather.

And Sandy walked the way of Jesus by being a loyal and faithful friend.

I’m sorry that I knew Sandy for much less time than probably all of you, but he touched my life, too.

Sandy and Beaumont were two of the first St. Thomas’ people that my wife Sue and I met, even before we moved here.

Beaumont and Glen Cole were a two-person transition team, given the job to get us ready for our move to Maryland.

One time, we were having a Zoom meeting when suddenly Sandy leaned into the picture, beside Beaumont. He said,

“Hey, Tom! Do you play golf?”

I said, “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” 

And immediately I thought, oh geez, I haven’t even gotten there yet and I’ve already disappointed this guy.

But, as you all know, Sandy was an excellent reader of people and he had a very quick wit.

And so without missing a beat, he said to me, “Good! You’re lucky. Golf’s an expensive hobby. You’re saving a lot of money!’

I immediately felt better.

And I also learned a lot about Sandy in that moment: his sensitivity, his kindness, and his sense of humor. 

Later, Sandy and Beaumont gave us a memorable tour of the neighborhood, driving us out into the country, pointing out where Sandy had grown up, taking pride in all the natural beauty, and, I think also having some fun with two city people who were a little stunned by a place that seemed to have way more horses than people.

Sandy and Beaumont embraced us as new friends – what a great gift.

Later, there were a couple of times when Sandy and I had some pretty serious conversations about faith – it’s safe to say that, probably like all of us, he had some questions to ask God about why things are the way they are.

The last time I saw Sandy – a couple of weeks ago - he was not feeling well at all.

But even then, he was still very much himself – asking me how I was doing, how things were going at the church, how was the fundraising going?

And, for him, the hardest part of all of this – much harder than illness itself – was the idea of leaving behind his beloved family – his family, which was truly the greatest gift he ever gave - the greatest gift he ever received.

That was how Sandy walked the way of Jesus.

And now, Sandy’s beautiful journey along the way has come to an end.

He has slipped into the safe and secure arms of the God who dreamed him up in the first place, shared him with all of us, and loved and supported him throughout his life.

But, for us, the journey continues until we are reunited.

Fortunately, thanks to Jesus, and thanks to Sandy, we know the way.

Amen.

Our Zillion Blessings

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 19, 2023

Year A, Proper 28: The Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Judges 4:1-7

Psalm 123

1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

Matthew 25:14-30

Our Zillion Blessings

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that we began a kind of seasonal change.

Although the holy season of Advent doesn’t begin for two more weeks, our Bible readings and prayers and even our music are getting us ready by drawing our attention to the Last Day – the Day of Judgment.

Last Sunday, we heard Jesus’ Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids.

The wise bridesmaids had enough oil for their lamps while the foolish ones were unprepared – not ready for the arrival of the bridegroom.

The foolish bridesmaids made a big mistake, thinking somehow that they had all the time in the world.

And in today’s lesson from the Gospel of Matthew, we pick up right where we left off last week.

We hear another challenging parable from Jesus – what’s often called the Parable of the Talents.

Some scholars think that this parable was originally an economic critique from Jesus.

The character of the master – demanding, shrewd, cruel - would’ve been familiar to Jesus and the people of his time and place.

And, we also know his type, don’t we?

The slave who received the one talent is definitely not wrong when he says, “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed…”

And, if there was any doubt about the master’s harshness, casting into the outer darkness the slave who buried his one talent settles the question once and for all.

In our own time, when employees are often mistreated and casually cast off, I’d say that this economic critique still holds up.

But, by the time of the Gospel of Matthew was written, a couple of generations after Jesus’ earthly lifetime, some early Christians heard something else, something even deeper, in this parable.

We don’t know exactly how much a “talent” was worth in the ancient world, but it was a lot – in fact, a “talent” may just be a shorthand expression for “a lot of money” like we might say, “a million dollars” or, with inflation, maybe “a zillion dollars.”

Early Christians began to recognize that Jesus might not only be talking about money but might be teaching us about the blessings that we have received – the “zillion” blessings we have received. 

Our “talents” – our blessings – come not from a harsh master but from a loving God.

But, nevertheless, we are expected to use our blessings wisely – to multiply our blessings, for the good of the world.

Each of us has the obligation to invest our blessings, not by burying them, not by hoarding them, not by zealously guarding them, but by sharing what we’ve been given.

And, together, we the church, have a sacred responsibility – a holy expectation - to share the zillion blessings we have been given.

As I mentioned to you last week, Sandy Martin was one of the first people we met here at St. Thomas’. Sue and I met him and his beloved Beaumont even before we moved here. Their warm embrace helped to convince us that this was the right place for us.

And Sandy’s death has gotten me thinking back to my first encounters with St. Thomas’, which were on paper and video.

And somewhere in the parish profile or in the videos you put together – I didn’t have time to go looking - this parish expressed the hope that it – we – could be a spiritual resource not only for our parishioners, but for the whole community.

You recognized that St. Thomas’ has been blessed in a zillion ways – and we certainly have – we’re the slave who has been given five talents.

And it’s our duty and obligation and privilege to share as much as we can with the people beyond our walls.

Of course, parishioners like Sandy and Beaumont and so many of you have been doing that all along – it’s built into the DNA of this place – just look at the Thanksgiving bags that are currently crowding the Old School Building.

But, I want to share with you just a couple of recent examples of us sharing some of our “talents” – our zillion blessings – with people “out there.”

Many of you will remember that a few weeks ago, Janice Mabry, the wife of Curtis Mabry, the longtime golf pro at the Greenspring Club, died. 

Although Janice and Curtis were not parishioners, it felt very appropriate for her funeral to be here.

In her funeral homily, Caroline Stewart noted the longstanding close relationship between “the Club” and St. Thomas’ and how right it was for the community to gather here to celebrate Janice and to comfort Curtis and his family.

That day, St. Thomas’ was a spiritual resource for the whole community.

Right around the same time as Janice’s funeral, we received an inquiry through our website about possibly having another funeral here.

A woman named Lisa wrote to tell us that her daughter had recently given birth to twins – Summer’lynn and River’lynn – but, so very sadly, after only four days of life, River’lynn had died.

Lisa wrote that she and her family were new to this community and hadn’t found a church, yet. Would we be open to having River’lynn’s funeral here?

I wrote back to Lisa and we set up a time to meet.

Several family members joined us, including Summer’lynn and her mom.

I have to tell you, it felt like a little village of love had come to visit.

We had a beautiful and sad conversation, learning a little bit about each other, and talking about what River’lynn’s service might look like.

At one point, I asked Lisa why had she reached out to us. Why St. Thomas’?

And her answer was, she liked what she saw on our website – how we emphasized that everyone is welcome here – and, I think, she wanted to see for herself and her family if that claim was actually true.

“Would we really be welcome here?”

Well, River’lynn’s sad and beautiful service was here yesterday afternoon, followed by a small reception in the Parish Hall.

Jane, our Parish Administrator, spent a good part of the week creating a brand new service bulletin, since we had no existing template appropriate for someone so young.

Roz created a beautiful pink quilt, which we gave to River’lynn’s mom, and another parishioner dropped off a plant to give to the family.

John was here to assist. Wanda played - and Jon and Rachel sang – all so beautifully, just as they did for Janice, just as they will for Sandy tomorrow, just as they always do.

Chris gave up a good chunk of his Saturday to set up for the reception, live-stream the service, and then clean up and get us ready for today.

It was yet another another busy weekend for the Altar Guild.

And I hope that our sharing of just a few of our zillion blessings was a comfort for River’lynn’s family – a reminder of God’s love – a sign that God really does not let go of us, no matter what.

I decided to share these two stories with you not to toot our own horn. 

Frankly, I doubt Jesus is impressed – he would say that we were only doing what we ought to be doing.

But I wanted to share these stories as signs of what really is possible - examples of us heading in the right direction, of us being a servant church, with God’s help.

We really have been given a whole lot of “talents” and we know that God calls us – expects us – to invest them by sharing them with others, people we’ve known for a long time and people we’ve never met.

And, this little pre-Advent season is a pointed reminder to get going, because we do not have all the time in the world to share our zillion blessings.

Amen.

God's Heartbreak

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 18, 2023

The Funeral of River’lynn Cartagena

Romans 8:31-39

Psalm 23

Mark 10:13-16

God’s Heartbreak

This has been – and will continue to be - such a tender time for all of you.

It’s a time to mourn the death of River’lynn while also celebrating the arrival and survival of Summer’lynn.

And, now that we’ve met you all and you’ve given us the privilege of having River’lynn’s service here, we at St. Thomas’ now also share in your grief and also your joy.

And we are here for you, not only today, but, hopefully, long into the future, whenever you need us.

You know, when terrible things happen, it’s natural for us to ask, why? 

And that’s especially true for those of us who say we are people of faith, who believe in a loving and merciful God.

If God is loving and merciful, like we believe, then why does God permit such sorrow, such loss?

Whenever I reflect on this difficult question, I think of someone who was a pretty famous pastor some years ago.

His name was William Sloane Coffin and he led a large church in New York City called Riverside Church.

Well, one stormy night, Rev. Coffin’s 24 year-old son, Alex, drove off a bridge in Boston and drowned.

A horrible tragedy – an unspeakable loss.

Amazingly, only ten days after Alex’s death, Rev. Coffin stood up in front of his congregation and offered a eulogy for his son.

He recognized that some people were, naturally enough, wondering why God would allow something so awful to happen – and, not only that, some people even believed that God had somehow been behind Alex’s swerve off the bridge and his death.

Well, Rev. Coffin was having none of that.

He stood up in front of his congregation and said something that I’ve never forgotten since the first time I read it. He said:

“…when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

And God’s heart breaks not only for Alex and his family, but for all suffering people in a world where, unfortunately, things go wrong all the time.

At the first moment, before anyone knew what was happening to River’lynn, God’s heart broke.

And God’s heart continues to break for River’lynn and for Amanda and Edwin and for all of you, for all of us.

But, here’s the thing:

God’s heartbreak opened the just the right space in God’s heart for River’lynn – a perfectly safe space – a space with so much love – the space in God’s heart where River’lynn will spend all eternity loved and loving – the holy space where someday she and Summer’lynn and all of us will be reunited.

And, not only that, but God’s heartbreak releases so much love and grace for all of us.

And I know that these aren’t just words because I’ve met this family and I’ve seen your love with my own eyes.

God’s heartbreak releases so much love – love that is stronger than death, stronger than anything – love that you’re sharing with Summer’lynn and with each other.

God’s heartbreak releases so much grace - the grace to stick close to each other – to go on being the beautiful little village that you are – supporting, and caring for each other, now and always. 

When tragedy strikes – during a tender time like this - there are no easy answers and no magic words.

But, when things go wrong, the heart of our loving and merciful God really is the first of all our hearts to break.

And God’s heartbreak made room in God’s heart for River’lynn.

And God’s heartbreak gives us the love and grace we need as we continue on our journey, together.

Amen.

Preparing for the Day When Everything Seems to Change

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 12, 2023

Year A, Proper 27: The Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25

Psalm 78:1-7

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

Matthew 25:1-13

Preparing for the Day When Everything Seems to Change

I’m not sure why, but this year the switch back to Standard Time has really hit me.

Part of the problem is that our cats have definitely not grasped the concept of “falling back” one hour. Their internal clocks are still pretty much where they were a week ago. 

So much for that extra hour of sleep.

Gradually, they are adjusting. 

We hope.

But it’s not just the cats.

Lots of people struggle with the time change – apparently, there are more car crashes – including right out here at our confusing and dangerous intersection. 

And the evening darkness can feel very gloomy indeed, especially these days when the world is so deeply shadowed by war and fear and hate.

I think the suddenness of the time change gets to us, too.

One day it’s still kind of bright at 7:00 PM and then the next day at the same time it’s like the middle of the night. 

And, although there is plenty of advanced warning, maybe this time change unsettles us because it reminds us of how life can sometimes be: without advanced warning, everything can suddenly change, thrusting us from light to shadow.

Well, it feels like it was six months ago, but, actually, it was only about six weeks ago – October 1, to be exact – when a whole lot of St. Thomas’ parishioners and friends – many of us wearing our sharp-looking orange St. Thomas’ Orioles shirts – made our way down to Camden Yards for the final game of what had been an extraordinary season.

The weather was perfect. And we – or at least, certainly I – expected a great game – really looked forward to a big Oriole win that would propel the team into playoff glory.

Well, at least it was a beautiful day!

Unfortunately, our guys did not play well at all against the Red Sox, foreshadowing the misery to come in the playoffs.

Anyway, after the game many of us were making our way through the throngs of people, making the way-too-long trek back to where our bus was parked when, suddenly, as many of you know, my mother fell.

She hit her head on the sidewalk cement.

There was blood. 

And people gathered around – some trying to help and others just gawking.

Eventually the first aid person arrived and began to tend to my mom.

And then my mother was taken away in the ambulance.

It was a frightening experience for my family – quite a sudden jolt from the joy of St. Thomas’ at the Orioles to this moment of suffering and fear - and I remember thinking, here it is: this is one of those moments when everything seems to change.

I thought, now we will forever mark time differently, before and after this fall.

Most of us know only too well what this is like, and some of us have recently endured these horrible moments of fear and sorrow.

The phone ringing in the middle of the night.

The doctor sitting across from us, looking uncomfortable, trying to find the best way to deliver bad news.

The revelation of a long-hidden secret.

Harsh words uttered in anger or hurt, words that can never be taken back or forgotten.

One wrong step.

The day when everything seems to change.

Fortunately, and amazingly, considering how terrible things first looked, my mom was not badly hurt in her fall.

Just a few bruised ribs – painful but manageable.

As I’ve joked with some of you, it’s a good thing that we Jersey City people are so hardheaded!

But that close call was an unexpected gift for me and my family – yet another reminder to not take anything – anyone - for granted – to remember that, actually, we don’t have all the time in the world – a call to treasure who and what we’ve been given – and, maybe, to better prepare for the day when everything really does change.

Although it’s not as sudden as the “fall back” to Standard Time or a stumble onto the sidewalk, there is a change – a seasonal change - underway here in church.

We have now entered a kind of pre-Advent season, a couple of weeks of lead-up to the First Sunday of Advent, which, this year is December 3.

Now, I love Advent almost us much as I love Baptism and an active church.

But even I sometimes forget that there are two sides of Advent – there’s the preparation for Christmas, of course – everybody knows that – but there’s the other side of Advent that we don’t talk about so much – the preparation for the Last Day, the Day of Judgment.

In fact, Advent used to be much more like Lent, a more penitential season, a time of sacrifice and repentance that helped to get us spiritually ready, both for Christmas and for the Last Day.

And we hear that more austere tone in today’s Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids – the bridesmaids don’t have all the time in the world – and when the door is closed, it’s closed.

And during Advent itself we’ll certainly hear that austere tone from one of the central characters of Advent, John the Baptist, and his loud and clear call to repent, to turn around, before it’s too late.

This year, when the world is shadowed by war and fear and hate, I think we should have a more Lent-like Advent – to prepare, with God’s help, for the day when everything seems to change.

So, maybe, even in the busyness of the so-called “holiday season,” we can carve out a little more time and space for God – to make even just a little “Quiet Time” for prayer and reflection.

During Advent, we can repent what needs to be repented.

We can ask forgiveness when we’ve messed up and offer absolution when we’ve been wronged. 

We can tell the people we love that we love them.

And, before the great and joyful holiday feasts, we can sacrifice or even fast a little, not to punish ourselves but to remind ourselves that we are totally dependent on God.

Which is a very good thing, because even on the day when everything seems to change, God’s love is constant.

And when we fall, God never lets go of us, no matter what.

Amen.  

Living Sacraments

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 5, 2023

Year A: All Saints’ Sunday

Revelation 7:9-17

Psalm 34:1-10, 22

1 John 3:1-3

Matthew 5:1-12

Living Sacraments

In last week’s sermon, I mentioned that I know that my love of Baptism has become kind of a running joke around here.

And that’s all right. I can take it.

The other running joke (or, at least the other one that I know about!) is that I like an active church.

I don’t make any apologies for that. Part of good stewardship is using the blessings – the resources – that we have received. And, especially these last few weeks, or months, really, I’d say that we have been exceptionally good stewards – serving and learning and growing in so many wonderful ways.

For me, one recent highlights was our study of the excellent little book by Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury.

Being Christian, it’s called.

I’ve been part of a lot of book studies but this one produced some of the best conversations I’ve experienced – thoughtful, interesting, and challenging.

And you know it’s a good book study when the participants think about the book during the week between our meetings. In fact, some parishioners got in touch with me by email or text because they wanted to talk more about something that they had read.

For example, one parishioner reached out to ask about sacraments.

She said that someone she knew had told her that at her church they consider the passing of the peace to be a sacrament! 

Our parishioner asked me, “Is this true?”

Well, maybe from a long-ago Confirmation class, some of you may remember that sacraments are defined as “outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace.”

Jesus himself gave us the sacraments of Baptism and Communion.

And then there are the five other “sacramental rites” that recognized by the Church: Confirmation, Ordination, Matrimony, Reconciliation, and Anointing of the Sick.

But, God is not limited by what we determine to be official and so the truth is that, yes, with the right intention, the passing of the Peace can totally be a sacrament - an outward sign of invisible grace.

In fact, so much of the good that, with God’s help, we do here can be, and often is, sacramental – the beautiful music that our choir offers us week after week, and the fellowship we enjoy, and the welcoming of the stranger, and the feeding of the hungry, even the filling out of a pledge card and, who knows, maybe even the sermon!

Really, at its best, the whole church is a giant sacrament – an outward sign of invisible grace.

And, the saints – both the “capital S” saints officially certified by the church and the holy people of our own lives – they are living sacraments.

All Saints’ Day, which we’re celebrating today, always gets me thinking about the many saints – the many living sacraments – that I’ve met.

The first was probably my grandmother – my mother’s mother. I’ve told you about her before. Like every other saint, she was imperfect but God’s invisible grace was easy to see in and through her life, right to the end.

One time when I was visiting her in the hospital, not long before her death, my grandmother turned to me and said, “I know where I have come from and I know where I am going.”

Whether she realized it or not, my grandmother was quoting Jesus (It’s John 8:14). And that day in her hospital room, it was her solid faith, her unwavering trust, that got me thinking about my own life and got me started on a journey that, eventually, led right here.

One of the most recent saints I’ve met was our parishioner Donna Gribble, who died a little over a month ago.

Early on in my time here, Donna and her husband Larry made an appointment to meet with me.

As we sat in my office, they shared their story with me, how Larry had repaired school buses and Donna drove them – how they had both served as volunteer fire fighters for many years.

They also told me how Donna had been battling cancer for a couple of years.

And they told me that they wanted to come back to St. Thomas’, back to the church where Donna had grown up, back home.

Later, Donna and Larry celebrated their fortieth anniversary by renewing their vows right here, surrounded by their loving family and friends.

It was a beautiful service, one of the most moving I’ve ever been part of. There was so much love in this room that day. 

Not too long ago, Donna’s cancer passed the point of no return.

Although it was such a terribly sad time, it was also a great privilege to make this final journey with Donna and Larry. 

During those last weeks, I began to understand just how much Donna had meant to so many people, how much she had given to her family and friends, her co-workers, the children who rode on her bus, and her fellow firefighters.

Through tears, over and over, people talked about her selflessness.

It wasn’t just her own children who called her “mom.”

Her funeral here was a testament to the kind of life she led. Even the chief of the County Fire Department kept choking up as she tried to honor Donna.

Although she definitely wanted to live, to spend more time with Larry and her family, Donna had faced her death with the kind of faith and trust that reminded me very much of my grandmother.

During one of my visits, I told Donna about my grandmother and how she had said, “I know where I have come from and I know where I am going.”

I think Donna recognized a kindred spirit, and during her last days, including her very last day, she repeated those confident words of Jesus.

Donna was a saint. Like all of us, she was imperfect. But she was most certainly a living sacrament: an outward and visible sign of inward and spiritual grace.

And now, today, on All Saints’ Sunday, I am about to have the great joy of baptizing our parishioner, Sean.

Of course, every baptism is joyful – remember the running joke – but, I have to say, there is something extra special when it’s an adult making this choice for himself, standing before his church community, with his sponsors at his side.

In the water of Baptism, God will make an unbreakable bond with Sean. But at the same time, the holy water is only a visible sign of what has been invisibly true all along.

Those of us who’ve had the chance to get to know Sean know that he, too, is a living sacrament.

When I look back over the past couple of years – back to when Sean and his mom and his aunt first started to attend church here – and how Sean has grown in his faith, grown in this community – sharing God’s grace in seemingly small but beautiful ways – working on the Altar Guild (he’s the “muscle” of the Altar Guild), participating in our Adult Confirmation class and now the Young Adult Group – when I think of the journey we’ve all been on together, well, God’s grace is already shining so bright, even before we get to the water.

Like my grandmother, like Donna, like Sean, all of us are called to be saints.

We are meant to be living sacraments – outward and visible signs of God’s invisible grace – the grace that is powerful enough to make real Jesus’ vision of the downside-up Kingdom of God, the world where it’s the poor and sorrowful and meek and hungry who are truly blessed.

We are all meant to be – and, with God’s help, can be - living sacraments.

Amen.