Everybody Counts, Everyone Matters

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills

September 14, 2025

Year C, Proper 19: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28

Psalm 14

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

Everybody Counts, Everyone Matters

Last week, Sister June Favata died.

June was a Sister of Charity who devoted nearly her entire adult life, nearly her entire vocation, to St. Vincent Academy, an all-girls high school located in the center of Newark, New Jersey.

She arrived as a young nun in 1969 and played a key role in leading, sustaining, and developing the school until her health failed, just a year or two ago.

Thirty-three years ago, I applied for a position at St. Vincent’s as a history teacher. Fortunately, they called me in for an interview and so, on a memorable day, I rode the PATH train from Jersey City to Newark and then boarded a bus to take me from Penn Station to the school.

Back then, I didn’t really know Newark, so I was startled, even a little frightened, when the bus left the business district and moved deeper into the city where there were blocks and blocks of rubble, with the occasional lone building standing – I saw a city still scarred by the uprising that had occurred back in 1967 and the following years of disinvestment and abandonment.

Seeing all that devastation, I confess that I wondered just what I was getting myself into?

But I really needed a job, so I kept going.

Finally, the bus rounded a low hill and there was St. Vincent’s, a red brick 19th century building standing tall amid the empty lots and various efforts at urban renewal.

I spent most of that day with Sister June in her office.

She told me the story of St. Vincent’s, how, back in the late 60’s and early 70’s when lots of Newark institutions were closing or moving out to the suburbs, the Sisters of Charity and their co-workers made the decision to stay, and to keep on educating the girls of Newark and the surrounding towns.

Now, all these years later, that day is a bit of a blur, but I do remember two things that June told me.

One was that she saw the mission of the school in profoundly Christian terms. Yes, we were teaching these girls our subject content and life skills but really, we were playing our part in what she called “the ongoing redemption of the world” – that by teaching and nurturing these girls, we were continuing the saving work of Jesus right there in Newark.

And second, she was frank that this might sometimes be a hard job and, like at any school, occasionally my students might disappoint, frustrate, or even anger me, but I must always remember that each one of them was absolutely loved and cherished by someone – a parent, a grandparent, an older sibling – someone who loved them so much that they made the sacrifice to send them to St. Vincent’s.

And then she added, that even if that were not the case, each one of these girls was unconditionally loved by God.

And so, I should do likewise.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about the Baptismal Covenant and, as a Roman Catholic nun, I’m sure June didn’t either, but she certainly understood and lived the call to seek and serve Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as our self, to respect the dignity of every human being. 

        I wish I could say that I loved unconditionally during my five years teaching at St. Vincent’s (yes, I got the job!), or at any other time of my life, but I haven’t forgotten Sister June’s words, her teaching and example, which really was the teaching and example of Jesus.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus offers two parables, two parables that share a simple and obvious structure: lost, found, rejoicing.

And Jesus teaches us that the rejoicing of the shepherd and the woman is kind of like the rejoicing in heaven when a sinner repents.

Amen. 

But, as I’ve sat with these parables during this tragic and disturbing week, a week when our need for repentance is more obvious than ever, a week when it feels like Jeremiah’s grim prophecy in today’s first lesson is being fulfilled, as I’ve sat with these parables, I keep thinking how both stories are… a little over the top.

Jesus begins by asking, “which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost…?

Well, I’m pretty sure the correct answer is nobody – no shepherd would do that!

And the woman, sure, I get looking for the missing coin but then, after you find it, inviting your friends over for a party to celebrate?

I’m not the most social guy, but that seems like overdoing it.

But, with our summer reading fresh in my mind, and during this terrible week, this is the message I kept hearing in my heart:

Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

And so, yes, that one sheep is so important that the shepherd risks a whole lot to find it and save it – and that coin matters so much that, yeah, when you find it, you throw a party.

Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

This is not the way of the world, but it is God’s way.

For our over-the-top God, everybody counts.

And so, as Sister June and so many holy Christians down through the ages have understood and embodied, everyone, every precious human being, should matter to us.

So, Charlie Kirk and his grieving family, they count.

And the two students injured in the shooting at Evergreen High School in Colorado, they matter.

        And Iryna Zarutska, stabbed to death on the Charlotte light rail, she counts.

And Minnesota legislator Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark who, along with their dog, were shot and killed in their home, they matter.

And Fletcher Merkel and Harper Moyski, the two children killed at Annunciation Church in Minneapolis, they count.

And Republicans, Democrats, Independents, and the many people who want no part of any of it, they matter.

And people whose ancestors arrived on the Mayflower and our Afghan friends, they count.

And people who are poor, rich, or somewhere in-between, they matter.

And people who are white, black, brown or any color, of any culture or creed, they count.

And people who are straight, gay, transgender, they matter.

And people we love and like and agree with and people we dislike or don’t understand or even fear, they count.

And hardest of all, the twisted, broken, violent people, the people poisoned by the internet, the people who say and do so many terrible things, yes, even they matter.

For God, everybody counts.

And so, for us, everyone must matter, too.

This is hard, believe me, I know, but we Christians are an Easter people.

We know – we know – that hate, suffering, and death do not get the last word.

So, let me tell you where I am finding Easter hope.

First, right here with all of you.

Last week was Renewal Sunday, but the truth is that our renewal is ongoing, the work of a lifetime.

We’re not perfect, but, week after week, there is so much faithfulness and devotion here, so much sacrifice, a warm welcome offered to everyone, an increasingly diverse group of people praying and serving together, loving one another.

We are playing our part in the ongoing redemption of the world.

This place matters – and you, all of you, count.

And reflecting on Sister June’s life and legacy has given me Easter hope, too.

Today, if you were to take that same bus ride through Newark, things look a lot different than they did 33 years ago.

Where there were rubble-strewn lots, now there are townhomes with carefully tended little patches of grass, there are new businesses and an expanded community college.

And when you round the low hill, St. Vincent’s still stands tall, but beside the old red brick building, there is a newer structure, one that was just a dream when I taught there, a building with state-of-the-art labs, a beautiful gym, and more.

And thanks to Facebook, I’ve managed to keep up with some of the girls I taught long ago – the girls who June taught me were treasured by their families, loved unconditionally by God.

And those girls are now women in their 40’s, working as doctors, teachers, nurses, lawyers, businesswomen, scientists – many of them are now moms raising their own families, with some sending their daughters to St. Vincent’s.

This is the power of God’s love, shared in and through people like Sister June, people like any of us.

        This is the ongoing redemption of the world.

        So, with the help of our over-the-top God, as we go forward together, may we always remember:

        Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

Amen.

Our Discipleship Team

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 7, 2025

Year C, Proper18: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 18:1-11

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

Philemon 1-21

Luke 14:25-33

Our Discipleship Team

One of the many good things happening at St. Thomas’ is that we have a steady stream of newcomers checking out our church, both online and in person, and then often jumping in as members.

In fact, over just the past couple of weeks I’ve met with some of these wonderful people, sitting in my office talking about the church and getting to know each other a little bit, telling at least some of our stories.

How did we get here?

This means that I also share some of my story – the story I’ve shared with you over these past four years – the story that, by now, might be getting a little stale for you.

But it’s all brand-new for the newcomers!

And, when I get to the part of my story about moving here from Jersey City, very often people will say something like, “Oh that must have been a big change,” or they’ll ask, “Was that a tough transition?”

Honestly, not really.

Because one thing I’ve learned over the years is that people are people.

Yes, we’re all individuals with our own strengths, weaknesses, particular challenges, quirks but we really are way more alike than different.

So, in every church where I’ve served, people wrestle with their faith, want to learn more, want their lives to have meaning and purpose, want the church to help them be their best selves.

Everywhere I’ve been, parents want their children to thrive, adult children care for their aging parents, new relationships are built and some relationships fall apart, some ministries thrive while others never catch on or simply reach the end of the line, people disagree about issues both big and small, there are births, illnesses, and deaths, baptisms, weddings, and funerals.

We’re more alike than different.

That said, there are a few things here that have taken some getting used to.

Probably the biggest one is that I have to drive everywhere – I do miss just being able to walk down the street!

        But really, that is a very small sacrifice for living in the beautiful home you’ve provided for us, surrounded by our own personal park.

        And the other thing that’s taken some getting used to is that sports sure are a big deal here.

        The Ravens home games have a real effect on our church attendance, so much so that during the season we check the schedule before planning any major church events.

        After last night’s unbelievable bottom-of-the-ninth, two outs,  come-from-behind Orioles win, I’m feeling kind of sports crazed myself, but mostly I’m thinking of school sports, which seems a little more intense, more all-consuming, than other places I’ve been.

        But, although this wasn’t really my experience growing up – I was never much of an athlete, a big surprise, I know – I think I understand the appeal, I get why kids put so much of their time and energy into sports, why parents and grandparents give up so much time for practices and games, all those trips in the minivan.

        There’s fun, of course, and there’s the satisfaction of setting goals and working hard to achieve them.

        Learning good sportsmanship is important, too, how to be a gracious winner and not a sore loser.

        And there’s the importance of working as a team – teamwork – finding ways for everybody to contribute their gifts, to hold up one another, knowing that victory – success – is not possible on our own.

        I know that not everyone here is into sports – and I may be stretching things a little bit – but I wonder if your “sportiness” is one of the reasons we have such a great team here at St. Thomas’ – maybe the lessons you’ve learned on the field or on the court have helped to make St. Thomas’ such a great team.

        In describing the church, St. Paul uses the image of the body – just like the body needs all its parts to be working together in harmony – the same is true for the church, the Body of Christ.

        Sometimes, St. Paul and other early Christian writers also used athletic imagery to describe the Christian life. My favorite is from the Letter to the Hebrews:

        “Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us…”

        In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus teaches about the high demands, the high cost of discipleship.

        He uses exaggeration, hyperbole, to make his point. We’re not really called to hate the people we love the most, but we are called to put Christ, to put following Christ, above everyone and everything else. 

        When we place Christ first, we are able to love people even more fully and generously.

        But it’s not easy. 

        And in a few minutes, we’re all going to renew our Baptismal Covenant, saying words, again making the big promises that remind us what Christian discipleship looks like: seeking and serving Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as our self.

        With each promise we make, we say “with God’s help.”

        But maybe should revise that a little.

        “With God’s help, and as a member of this team.”

        Discipleship is impossible without God’s help.

        And discipleship is impossible on our own.

        We can really only be Christians as members of a church, only as members of our discipleship team, a team where everyone is important and cherished, a team where we set big goals, where we all contribute our gifts, where we work for the ongoing renewal of the church, where we challenge each other to be better, where, together, we celebrate our successes and mourn our losses.

        For me, the greatest blessing of St. Thomas’ is the opportunity to be part of, to help lead, our discipleship team.

        It’s a team made up of many different teams – you might call them “special teams.”

        There are our officers – and in my short time here, you and I have been blessed with exceptional wardens – Tony, Jesse, Barritt, and Sana – along with the other officers and our vestry members, they have continued a long St. Thomas’ tradition of outstanding lay leaders.

        There’s our hardworking, devoted, and talented staff – every day it’s an honor and joy to work beside them.

        And there are all those other “special teams” – choir, acolytes, lay readers and chalicists, outreach, finance, handicrafters, Sunday School and preschool teachers, ushers, Green Team, Altar Guild, and on and on.

        At our Wednesday service – which is its own special team – we often talk about how blessed we are to be here, and we lament that there are so many people out there who don’t have what we have.

        It’s hard to lack community.

        And it’s impossible to be a Christian on your own.

        So, of course, we share what we have, getting the word out as best we can, welcoming everyone who walks over that well-worn threshold.

        Here, there are no try-outs and nobody ever gets cut.

        Here, there are no benchwarmers – everyone has an important position to play.

        Here, victory is loving more fully and giving more generously.

        Everyone is invited to be part of the discipleship team we call St. Thomas’.

        May God continue to bless the renewal of our hearts and the renewal of our team.

        Amen.

Open Invitation

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 31, 2025

Year C, Proper 17: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 2:4-13

Psalm 81:1, 10-16

Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Luke 14:1, 7-14

Open Invitation

By now, at least some of you have received in the mail a pastoral letter from me.

It’s not a very long letter, but it took me all summer to finally sit down and write it.

I prayed and thought about what I wanted to say to you during our time of turmoil.

I prayed and thought about how we can best be the church, how we can be faithful disciples of Jesus, in a time such as this.

It took me all summer to finally sit down and write partly because of good old-fashioned procrastination and partly because in this time of deep division I am committed to holding our church together as best I can, with God’s help.

And I also held off writing the letter because, as you have no doubt noticed, terrible things continue to happen, and I didn’t want my letter to be seen as a response to any one incident.

I wanted it to be a broader reflection.

Well, unfortunately, tragically, just about the time my letter went out, there was the heartbreaking incident at Annunciation Catholic Church in Minneapolis – heartbreaking, infuriating, stomach-churning, every parent’s worst nightmare, but certainly not shocking.

 After all, we have been through this so many times before.

So many times, that, by now, we all know the script.

Prayers are offered, there’s some vague talk about mental health, and then we quickly move on to the next thing.

And we all know that this is going to continue to happen because in our country angry and sometimes unhinged people have no trouble getting their hands on military-style weapons and many of our leaders are too cowardly, corrupt, and cynical to do anything about it – and, let’s face it, many of us have grown so discouraged, numb, resigned to the grim fact that we will go on allowing human sacrifice, including even the sacrifice of the youngest, the most innocent, the most vulnerable, including the sacrifice of Fletcher Merkel, eight years old, and Harper Moyski, ten years old.

In this time of turmoil and tragedy, I wonder: where do we go from here?

Where do we go from here?

Well, for us, there is only one answer: we follow the way of Jesus.

And the way of Jesus is the way of love, compassion, mercy, and hospitality.

The way of Jesus is an open invitation, an open invitation to everyone, especially the people who have the least.

I love today’s gospel lesson: Jesus’ sabbath meal at the home of a top Pharisee.

It always makes me smile because at first Jesus sounds a little bit like Emily Post or Martha Stewart, teaching us how to behave at a wedding banquet – don’t take the place of honor because, you know, someone more distinguished might show up and won’t you be embarrassed when you have to give up your seat?

Yes, that would be very embarrassing – but, of course, Jesus isn’t talking about etiquette. 

        He’s teaching about humility, the recognition that getting the best seat in the house shouldn’t really matter to us, that all that I am and all that I have comes from God, and that is really all that I need.

And then Jesus gives some hard teaching to the host who had welcomed Jesus to his home (and by now was probably really regretting it!).

Jesus says, when you throw a luncheon or a dinner, don’t invite the people you know and like, don’t invite the people who can repay you, but invite “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind,” invite the people who can’t repay you.

Really, Jesus is saying to his Pharisee host, saying to all of us, that when you throw a party, make it like the heavenly banquet.

Make it like the heavenly banquet, where we will all be gathered, where our station in life won’t matter, where the money and the stuff we’ve accumulated won’t matter, where all that will matter is our faithfulness, where all that will matter is our love and generosity.

This gospel lesson always reminds me of a particularly challenging time in my life, a particularly challenging time for Sue and me.

        About 15 years ago, we made a big move from New Jersey to Gainesville, Florida.

I had been called to serve as the rector of St. Michael’s, a church in suburban Gainesville, and also to serve as the Episcopal chaplain at the University of Florida.

At the time, accepting these two jobs made a lot of sense. They brought together my two vocations: teacher and priest. Seemed perfect.

Well, it didn’t really work out and we ended up only staying for a year – basically, we were just too far from all our people. (Fortunately, Maryland is a more manageable distance.)

But, as is usually the case during hard times, during that Florida year, Sue and I learned a lot about ourselves.

        And we also met some truly amazing people, some very faithful Christians, some people who became much-loved friends. 

        Anyway, because we knew that the college kids were not likely to come to church on Sunday morning, we offered our service later in the day, I think it was 5:00.

        And because we knew that college kids might be more likely to come to church if there was a delicious home cooked meal involved, everyone was invited to stay after the service for a free supper prepared by parishioners from various local Episcopal churches.

        The parishioners loved feeding the students and the students loved breaking bread together.

        But, you know, when you offer a free meal, the word usually gets out, right?

        And so, in addition to the students, we also welcomed a kind of odd assortment of other people, homeless people and nearly homeless people, lonely people, people who just enjoyed sitting with others and engaging in conversation, and people who would inhale their food quickly and quietly and be on their way.

        And, many Sunday evenings, I remember looking around the room, hearing all the chatter and the clinking of silverware, seeing a homeless man sitting beside a graduate student, everyone welcome, everyone mostly getting along, no head table or anything like that, I remember seeing and hearing all of that and thinking, this is what the kingdom of God is like.

        It’s like a supper prepared for people we may not even know, shared with anyone who happens to show up – a supper where everyone is accepted as they are, where everyone is welcomed and fed.

        The author of the Letter to the Hebrews writes, “Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

        I know that isn’t some kind of fantasy, because I experienced it in Gainesville, and I experienced it in Jersey City at the community suppers we had there, and I experience it here at St. Thomas’, too, where we continue to invite everybody, where, even in a time of turmoil, we continue to welcome the stranger.

        I’ll conclude with another image from last week, infinitely more uplifting than where I began my sermon. 

        On Tuesday morning, I was driving to the office and as I passed Gilead House 2 where our Afghan family is living, I saw the dad standing with one of his daughters at the end of the driveway.

        The girl was dressed like any other elementary school student, with her backpack slung over her shoulders.

        As they were waiting, the yellow school bus approached.

        A simple, beautiful image, one repeated a million times across our country.

        But this girl, this family, who have been through so much, they are stepping into a new life, a new life made possible by God’s love, mercy, and hospitality, channeled through us.

        In our time of turmoil and tragedy, this is the way.

        This the way of Jesus.

        This is the way of open invitation. 

        Open invitation to the banquet, where the poor and the suffering, the people who cannot repay, get the best seats.

        Amen.

A Pastoral Letter

A Pastoral Letter from the Rector

Dear Parishioners,

Grace and peace to you.

I hope you have had a good summer, with at least some time for rest and refreshment, some opportunities for travel or to just enjoy the beauty that surrounds us in Maryland. Here at St. Thomas’, summer brought a slightly slower pace. But just slightly. We welcomed our wonderful new Assistant Rector, the Rev. Amelia Bello. We continued the much-loved tradition of hosting Paul’s Place Camp and welcomed a lovely Afghan family into a beautifully renovated “Gilead House 2.” We undertook several other important capital projects, including the repair of many monuments in the churchyard, library and parish hall roof repairs, and the installation of a new kitchen floor. We gathered to watch the film The Six Triple Eight, a fascinating and inspiring story of an all-Black, all-female postal unit during World War II. We also hosted an introduction to community organizing session, which was well-attended by parishioners and guests. And, of course, we continued to gather on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays to praise God and to pray for our own needs and the needs of others.

Unfortunately, while all this good and holy work has been underway at St. Thomas’, the troubles of our land and our world have continued to multiply. Bitter divisions and ruthless acts of violence at home. Unceasing war and unspeakable suffering in Ukraine, Gaza, and in so many other places. No doubt, you are well aware of the problems, challenges, and dangers we face. You also know that St. Thomas’ is a diverse community, welcoming people from different backgrounds, including people with varying experiences and points of view. So, I have been giving much prayer and thought to how we can best live together as Christians in a time such as this. As much as we might like to, we cannot bury our heads in the sand, tuning out the fear and suffering around us. But we also must offer a holy respite from the relentless news cycle, continuing to provide a place where we can all come together to pray, serve, and love, to remember that God loves us and will not let go of us, no matter what.

Before we begin a new program year on Renewal Sunday (September 7), I want to share what I see as the best ways forward for us.

First, perhaps more than ever, we are called to pray. We are called to pray on our own and we are called to pray together in church. Through prayer, we give God more space in our hearts, allowing God to grow closer to us, providing us with the strength, wisdom, and courage that we need. As Sam Shoemaker once said, “Prayer may not change things for you, but it sure changes you for things.” This is a great truth. I urge you to pray. And, in the months ahead, St. Thomas’ will offer more opportunities to learn about prayer and to pray together.

Second, while we cannot ignore what’s happening in Washington and around the world, I am convinced that we are particularly called to tend to our local Baltimore community. Fortunately, this work is already well underway as we continue to deepen our relationships with Owings Mills Elementary School, Owings Mills High School, and the Community Crisis Center. Through community organizing, we are beginning to meet more of our neighbors from other local institutions, learning from each other, and listening for ways that we might make life better for people in our neighborhoods. As a sign of these new friendships, we are planning to host an interfaith Thanksgiving service in November here at St. Thomas’. More on that, and much more, later.

Especially during these challenging times, it is a great joy to belong to our St. Thomas’ community and a profound privilege to serve as your Rector. May God continue to bless you all. And let’s continue to pray for each other.

Your Brother in Christ,

Tom

 

The Great Unburdening

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 24, 2025

Year C, Proper 16: The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

Hebrews 12:18-29

Luke 13:10-17

The Great Unburdening

So, many of you know that I was recently on vacation. I was off for about ten days, a good amount of time for rest and recharging.

For the first half I was out of town (and I’ll come back to that in a few minutes) and for the second half, I was around here, just sort of goofing off.

That’s why, last week, here at St. Thomas’, Rev. Amelia had her first solo Sunday morning, including her first and second baptisms, and if you were here or watched online, you know that, no surprise, it was a beautiful morning.

Meanwhile, I worshiped out our cathedral down in Baltimore City where I had the rare-for-me, and really great, experience of just being a Christian in the pew, not having to worry about how things were going, not having to focus on what I’m supposed to say or do next.

In many ways, the service at the cathedral was very much like a typical Sunday here, especially the joyfulness.

Being in the pew with the wonderfully diverse congregation, I could really see and feel the joy – every single person was glad to be there. Just like here, no one was in church out of a sense of obligation or a desire to be seen.

It wasn’t always that way, of course. 

For a long time, at least some people came to church because it was expected, it was simply the thing you did, it was a place to see and be seen.

And, while it might be nice to have that kind of attendance again, I wouldn’t go back to those days. I’ll take somewhat reduced numbers if everybody’s here because they want to be here – I’ll take reduced attendance in exchange for the joy that we experience here every week.

Our Jewish brothers and sisters have never lost their joyful sabbath spirit.

Yes, keeping the sabbath is one of the Ten Commandments, but down through the centuries, Jews have received the sabbath as a great gift from God, a day not so much of obligation but freedom – a day when everyone – even the beasts of burden – everyone is released from daily drudgery – a day for prayer and praise - a day when families and friends are meant to enjoy each other’s company – a day when married couples are encouraged to spend quality time together.

The sabbath was and is meant to be a joyful gift.

And if you’ve ever been at Trader Joe’s in Pikesville on a Friday, no doubt you’ve seen many of our Jewish neighbors buying flowers to beautify their sabbath table.

Sabbath joy.

But, of course, not everyone is able to experience that sabbath joy.

Some people are heavy burdened; bent by the weight they carry.

That’s true today and it was true back in the first century, too.

As we just heard, in today’s gospel lesson, it’s the sabbath and Jesus the faithful Jew is in the synagogue, teaching.

Lots of other people are there, too, including a long-suffering woman, literally bent for 18 years.

It’s very moving to me that she’s there – maybe it’s out of a sense of faithfulness, maybe out of obedience, but it’s surely not because she expects her ailment to be cured.

She doesn’t ask for healing, probably she doesn’t even think of it.

Or, then again, maybe she’s heard about Jesus’ miraculous reputation, but she still doesn’t dare to ask for her own miracle.

Well, without asking, Jesus heals her.

And we’re told that the synagogue leader objects – it might be because he feels threatened by Jesus’ power. After all, how many people has he healed?

Or maybe he’s simply stating a fact, that this kind of non-life-threatening healing could’ve waited until sunset. Jesus could’ve held off until after the sabbath was over.

But, of course, the leader misses the point.

God’s law, God’s love, is all about liberation, all about unburdening.

And Jesus the Liberator, was there, lifting the burden of this poor woman, allowing her to joyfully celebrate the sabbath for the first time in eighteen years.

        And today Jesus the Liberator is here, Jesus is still here, still able to lift our burdens.

        And that’s the source of the joy I experienced at the Cathedral last week, the joy I experience here all the time.

        Yes, we all carry troubles and worries.

        Some of us feel the heavy weight of what’s happening in our own lives and what’s going on across the country and around the world – I don’t need to run down the long list of suffering.

        How could we not feel the weight these things?

        But Jesus the Liberator is here, at work in and among us, lifting our burdens by reminding us that we are loved, that we are not alone, that we have each other – we have this beautiful St. Thomas’ community – and, most of all, we have a God who will simply not let go of us, no matter how heavy our burdens, no matter what.

        And in our baptismal promises we sign up to be part of this great unburdening.

        When we promise to be here, to ask forgiveness and repent, to love our neighbor – especially the people we don’t like or trust – especially the people we’re taught to hate and fear – when we make and renew those big promises and, with God’s help, when we live out those promises, we’re part of this great unburdening, this great unburdening that all the bent-over people of today so desperately need.

        And we’re all included in this work, all of us, very much including teenagers like Jeremiah, who, as we heard in today’s first lesson, he thought he was too young to be a prophet. “I am only a boy,” he objects.

        But Jeremiah was called to be a prophet despite, or maybe because of, his youth.

        We’re all included in this work, even our youngest children, even young Whit here, who is about to be baptized.

        So, I said at the start of my sermon, I’d come to back to the part of my vacation when I was away.

        And I want to share with you a small, simple moment that I observed.

        I was in a restaurant by myself, which always a little awkward, right? And also, when you’re by yourself and don’t have anything in particular to do, you have time to think, and when you have time to think, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and start to bend under the burdens of life.

        Anyway, sitting at a table across from me was a mom and her daughter, who was about four.

        The daughter wore glasses, you know the kind that look like goggles, with the strap round her head.             

        Very cute.

        So, after they’ve been sitting there for a few minutes, the people they’d been waiting for arrive, a middle-aged couple, probably husband and wife.

        The mom and daughter both get up.

        Smiles all around, the mom politely hugged the man and the woman – you know, grown up, slightly awkward, hugs.

        But the daughter with her little goggles, hugged in turn the man and the woman, wrapping her arms around their shins, resting her head against their legs.

        After she had hugged them both she made her way back to her seat but when she realized that her mom and the couple were still standing and talking, she came back for another round of hugs.

        I think the mom was as little embarrassed by her daughter’s enthusiasm, but the couple was just beaming.

        And why wouldn’t they be?

        Like all of us, I’m sure they were burdened by their own troubles and the troubles of the world, but that moment was a great unburdening – a reminder of the love and joy that God intends for us on the sabbath and always.

        For us, Jesus is the Liberator.

        And in this time of many troubles, we are all called to do our part in the great unburdening.

        All of us are called to share God’s love, maybe with something as simple as a hug.

        Amen.

 

Prayer and Work

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 10, 2025

Year C, Proper 14: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20

Psalm 50:1-8, 23-24

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Luke 12:32-40

Prayer and Work

For Kit

        So, partly because of Rev. Amelia’s arrival, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the first days of my ordained ministry. 

        Back when I was in seminary, whenever I imagined my future church, I saw a city church. After all, that’s where I was from, that’s what I knew, that’s where I was comfortable.

        It made sense.

        I was sure that this was what God had planned for me.

But when I graduated and was ordained there really weren’t any city churches available, so, with some hesitation, I accepted a call to serve as the Curate (or, Assistant Rector) at Grace Church in Madison NJ, a beautiful church in a lovely suburban town.

        Now, Madison is only 23 miles from my hometown Jersey City but at first it felt like a whole different world.

I arrived there, a brand-new priest, unsure of myself, feeling kind of insecure around people who I imagined were much more polished and sophisticated than I was.

I wondered if we would have anything in common.

        Would we be able to relate to each other?

        Would I be a good priest for them?

        Well, in a life full of blessings, Grace Church was one of the very best.

        First of all, the rector, the Rev. Lauren Ackland, was a wonderfully supportive mentor.

        From the start, she told me that she was looking for a “partner in ministry,” not some kind of underling, not a priest who would be kept in a very narrow lane.

        And, sure enough, she shared the whole church with me, encouraging me to get involved in all of it, to try out my own ideas and see what worked and what didn’t.

        A great experience and a very effective way to learn.

        And I’ve told Amelia that I hope to be the same kind of mentor that Lauren was for me. (You can ask her how I’m doing!)

        Another thing about Grace Church is that it had many excellent ministries. 

        Grace was committed to good works.

        Just a few examples include  Habitat for Humanity, preparing and serving food at a local soup kitchen, donating lots of food and other supplies. There was a large choir, which included many kids and youth. There was even a group that cared for the church grounds. They called themselves the “Lay Weeders.”

         So, there was a lot going on, so much ministry - more than I had ever seen at a church, honestly.

         I think I told you once before about my first meeting with Lauren when she ran down the list of all the good stuff that was happening at the church. At one point, I interrupted her and asked a question that now embarrasses me a little. I asked something like “What makes all of this possible? Why are there so many great ministries here?”

        And without hesitation, Lauren said that it was because of the “daily worship.”

        Amazingly, Grace Church offered at least one public service of worship every day of the year – and Lauren claimed that was the source of this abundant good work.

        I’ll be honest, I didn’t really believe her but, in time, I realized that she was right.

        Although most of the weekday services were not well attended – in fact, sometimes it was just the officiant all alone, praying on behalf of everybody – I’m convinced that all that worship had a powerful spiritual effect on the whole community.

        To use Lauren’s phrase, the church walls were “bathed in prayer.”

        “Bathed in prayer” every day.

        As I’ve said before, offering daily worship here is a goal of mine. We’ve only got four more days to cover, so we’ll see, maybe we’ll get there!

        But, as we heard in today’s first lesson from Isaiah, none of our worship is pleasing to God if we are not also “seeking justice, rescuing the oppressed, defending the orphan, pleading for the widow.”

        None of our worship pleases God if we are not also sharing God’s blessings, caring for the poor, and standing beside the vulnerable.

        Prayer and work.

        I’ve also been thinking back to those early days because a man named Kit Cone died a couple of weeks ago.

        Kit was a fascinating guy, smart and clever, and a deeply committed Christian.

         For many years he had owned a local newspaper, and he also spent a great deal of his life serving as a missionary in Liberia.

        Kit was a very large and much-loved and respected presence at Grace Church.

        I’m pretty sure he was the first verger that I ever met.

        He also officiated at many of the weekday services – and had the challenging job of scheduling the officiants and readers at all those services.

        He was deeply rooted in prayer and worship and, I have to say, he was also very particular about how both lay people and clergy should play their roles in church.

        Some years before I arrived, a priest from the city of Newark called the Grace Church. He said that a family had been burned out of their home, and he hoped that maybe the people of Grace could provide some assistance.

        Kit and other parishioners swung into action. They gathered and delivered many of the items that a family with almost nothing might need – and from that experience of generosity and service to the poorest of the poor, a new ministry was born.

        For most of its history it was called the Recycling Ministry – maybe not the best name because it sounded like they collected bottles and cans – but for years they accepted donations of furniture, appliances, linens, and so on, much of which was stored in garages donated by the church.

        It seemed like almost every day, Kit – who had a truck he called “Bruno” – and his band of volunteers - some parishioners, some not - would head out, either to pick up donations or to deliver much needed items to people in need.

        Later, when I was back in Jersey City, one of our church families had found a place to live but had very little. So, I called Kit and, sure enough, he and “Bruno” and some volunteers made the trip from Madison to Jersey City and furnished this family’s new and very bare apartment.

        I remember looking at the family – the parents and their two daughters - watching all of this in amazement.

        This “old man with a truck,” as he often called himself, was such a blessing for them and for so many others.

        Since Kit was a newspaperman, each day he would send out an email called the “RM Notes” detailing the daily work of the ministry along with his own keen and quirky observations from the road – like updates on the price of gas, or the opening and closing of restaurants and stores.

        The Recycling Ministry was a very special ministry.

        And I think you’ll agree that it has a kind of St. Thomas’ ring to it, but that’s not why I’m telling you about it today.

        In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells us to be generous, and also warns us to be alert, to stay awake.

        And I think that’s a very good reason to gather here as often as possible to pray and sing and to receive Christ’s Body and Blood into our bodies and souls.

        When we do that, day after day – when we bathe these old walls in prayer, week after week – we are more alert, more openhearted, more ready to respond to whatever God may be calling us to do.

        And, you know, just like many years ago at Grace Church when a phone call gave birth to the Recycling Ministry, I’ve seen that same beautiful process happen right here.

        Because we pray together and hear God’s Word together, a few conversations about the plight of Afghan refugees evolved into a life-changing ministry, life-changing for both the Afghans and us.

        Because we pray together and hear God’s Word together, some parishioners reading with kids at Owings Mills Elementary School bloomed into a life-changing ministry, life-changing for both the children and us.

        Prayer and work.

        This is how we praise God.

        This is how we please God, both at Grace Church and here at St. Thomas’.

        We gather for prayer, where we are equipped, readied, for the ministry God calls us to do.

        Prayer and work.

        Kit Cone understood that. And he lived that.

        Amen.

Rich Toward God, Together

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 3, 2025

Year C, Proper 13: The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Colossians 3:1-11

Luke 12:13-21

Rich Toward God, Together

Well, it’s almost two weeks later, and I’m still buzzing about the “Introduction to Community Organizing” meeting that we had in our Parish Hall.

I was really pleased by the strong turnout – a great showing by St. Thomas’ parishioners and also some others from a couple of other local churches, and also Owings Mills Elementary School and Owings Mills High School.

I was impressed by the quality of the conversation, how much skill was gathered in our Parish Hall, but not only skill – a deep desire to do good, to find new ways of being even more effective in dealing with the many challenges we face – to find new ways to help people right here in our own community – maybe through this process called “Community organizing.” 

I first learned about community organizing about 18 years ago.

Back then, the Bishop of Newark required all of us newly ordained clergy to attend a week-long community organizing training session.

There we learned some of the same principles that we talked about at our intro session the other day. We especially learned about power – what it is and how we can harness it, use it, to do good.

We learned about tension – something that most of us instinctually avoid, but it can be useful in holding leaders accountable and moving things forward.

We learned about and practiced one-on-one relational meetings, how to really talk and listen with someone, how to discern common interests and ways we might work together.

A very helpful skill that I use all the time.

But what I remember most from that training was a comment made by the facilitator, who told us that he didn’t like the word “empowerment.”

You hear that word a lot – “empowerment” – and it’s usually meant positively, you know, giving people a boost, giving them the tools they need to succeed – “empowerment.”

But the facilitator said “empowerment” is condescending, it sounds like we’re somehow giving power to people.

While, in fact, people have plenty of power – they just need to realize it and work together to use their power to make change.

I saw this at my church in Jersey City, where much of our community organizing work was around decent and affordable housing.

Early on, we had an action in our parish hall about the disgusting conditions in some apartment buildings owned by slumlords – some of our parishioners lived in those buildings.

And one of those parishioners stood up in the parish hall packed with people, including many elected officials. Behind her, on easels, were enlarged photos of her apartment: holes in the ceiling, broken cabinets – just a mess. 

And in front of all those people, she bravely told her story.

And, as she spoke, you could almost see the lightbulb switching on above her head as she realized that she had power – that together we had power.

The action continued with us walking over to one of those apartment buildings so the politicians could go in and see the conditions for themselves.

And, sure enough, on the next business day, the housing inspectors were dispatched throughout the city and hundreds of citations were issued.

The slumlords didn’t know what hit them!

Although not specifically religious, I’m convinced that community organizing is holy work.

It’s holy to build relationships with our neighbors, to use our gifts to strengthen and improve our community, to help people realize that they have God-given power.

To use Jesus’ words in today’s gospel lesson, community organizing is being “rich toward God.”

        Rich toward God, together.

        In last week’s sermon, I talked a little about your extraordinary generosity, the overflowing generosity that I see here just about every day.

        To make my point, I used the classic New Jersey example of a ride to Newark Airport. It’s kind of a big ask back home but it’s a way bigger ask here, yet I know that, in a pinch, I could ask some of you for a ride up there and that you’d do it.

        And sure enough, after each service last Sunday, some of you said, yep, if you asked me, I’d be there for you.

        (One parishioner came up to me and said, nope, she wouldn’t drive me to the airport. But she would hire a car service for me. That’s pretty good, too!)

        Quite a contrast with the man in today’s gospel lesson.

        This rich man has done very well for himself, so well that he’s run out of room to store his crops.

        Rather than sharing what he has – the thought never seems to occur to him – he starts a building project, constructing new, larger barns to hold his abundance.

        And then he thinks, he’s all set for many years to come, many years of relaxing, eating, and making merry.

        Ahh…

        But none of that wealth will be any use to him on the day of his death.

        Jesus’ lesson is pretty straightforward, and certainly one that we – who by the world’s standards are very well off – need to hear, again and again.

        Life is not about how much stuff we have.

        And we all leave this world emptyhanded. 

        But as I reflect on this man – this man who was so selfish, and so shortsighted – I’m struck by how alone he is.

        The question, “the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” is poignant. Maybe there is no one.

        There’s no mention of family or friends or neighbors. He might have shared his abundance with them. Jesus’ stories often include a big party, but not this time.

        Maybe the man was planning to “eat, drink, and be merry” all by himself.

        There’s also no mention of the workers who must have planted and harvested the crops – the workers who built the big new barns - the workers whose skill and muscle helped produce all this wealth – no mention of sharing anything with them.

        There’s no mention of the poor, who were probably right outside his door.

        The rich man doesn’t even pray – he offers no words of thanksgiving for his many blessings.

        This rich man is all alone, so alone that the only person he talks to is himself, his own soul.

        A bad place to be.

        You know, isolation and selfishness are kind of like the chicken and the egg.

        I’m not sure which comes first.

        I am sure, however, that one big reason why you are so generous – even generous enough to give me a ride to Newark Airport – is that we are together.

        Being part of church, being part of this church, encourages us, inspires us, challenges us, to be generous – to share our abundant gifts with the church itself – to share our abundant gifts with refugees and school children and hungry people.

        Being part of a church, being part of this church, encourages us to explore new ways of being generous, invites us to sacrifice a summer afternoon to learn about community organizing.

        And, also, when we’re part of a church, we are regularly reminded of ultimate things.

        Even if our barns are full, someday our life will end and we will be asked to account for how we used our gifts, how we shared our abundance.

        God has given us so much – so much wealth, so much skill, so much power.

        So much love.

        With God’s help, may we continue to use our gifts in service to others.

        May we be rich toward God, together.

        Amen.