More Than We Can Ask or Imagine

More Than We Can Ask or Imagine

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 13, 2026

Year A, Proper 19: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost – Renewal Sunday

Genesis 50:15-21

Psalm 103:1-13

Romans 14:1-12

Matthew 18:21-35

This has been a very intense few days here at St. Thomas’.

We’ve been preparing for today, for Renewal Sunday, and I’m pretty sure we’ve broken our record for squeezing in as much as possible into a single day – first Sunday back in the church; a baptism; Sunday School registration; backpack blessing, welcoming our new ministry intern, the Rev. Nathanael Gibson; an outreach project; and celebrating the success of our capital campaign with a festive lunch – and the ice cream truck!

That is a lot!

Yesterday afternoon, we had our second September wedding – and it was another beautiful one as Jack Wells married Casey Adams.

On Friday, the church was full for Alec Miran’s funeral – there was even a CNN crew here recording the service in honor of their much loved and respected producer.

And, for the last few days, many of us have been praying especially hard for Jim and for John and for everyone who loves them so much – and those prayers will continue for a long time, and that love will never end.

And, of course, Friday was the 25th anniversary of the September 11 terror attacks. We had a small, meaningful service in the Old School Building – and for those of you who couldn’t be there but might be interested, I made some copies of my reflection along with a poem that I wrote about my experience that day – or really the day before.

Most of you know that back then I was a high school history teacher.

And thinking back twenty-five years got me thinking back to that other life – one that I still miss sometimes.

There have been times over my years in the church, especially when things weren’t going well or when I was unhappy, angry, or disappointed about something or other, times when I’ve wondered what my life would have been like if I had stayed in the classroom, if I had remained at St. Peter’s Prep.

I’m sure it would have been – would have continued to be – a good life.

But then I think of how much I would have missed out on – so many different and rich experiences – the joy of baptizing a child (or the occasional adult!), the privilege of sitting by the bedside of the sick and the dying, the challenge of finding the right words for all sorts of occasions – and most of all, I think of the people I would have never met, would have missed out on.

I think of you.

And I think of those who have gone before us and are now among the “great cloud of witnesses” praying for us, cheering us on, in heaven: people like Jim Piper, Sandy and Beaumont Martin, Donna Gribble, Cynthia Murray, Kitty Washburne, and now, today, I think of Jim Wolgamott – who has now joined a choir even better than ours.

And when I think of all these wonderful people – and how God has brought us together for a time to love one another, to pray together, to do good together – I’m reminded of a familiar verse from the Letter to the Ephesians:

“Glory to God, whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.”

More than we can ask or imagine.

That’s God.

That’s what God calls us to.

That’s what God offers us.

And that’s our story, that’s the story of our wonderful people, our amazing ministries, that’s the story of our capital campaign.

That’s the story of St. Thomas’.

More than we can ask or imagine.

Today is Renewal Sunday, and, yes, there’s a whole lot going on.

And as is so often true in life, joy and sadness are mixed together.

But, this will come as no surprise, at the heart of today is Baptism – the baptism of young Andrew Carrington Springs in a little while, and also the opportunity for all of us to renew our Baptismal Covenant, to renew these big promises – big promises that we can only hope to keep with God’s help – big promises that demand more of us than we might think possible or even reasonable.

To seek and serve Christ in all persons.

To strive for justice and peace among all people.

To respect the dignity of every human being.

It’s that “all” and “every” that trip me up every time.

And yet, just as Jesus told Peter that he must forgive not just seven times – already a big number and even bigger when you remember that seven represented perfection – no, Jesus tells Peter that we must forgive not just seven times but seventy-seven times or some translations say seventy times seven times – infinite forgiveness, with God’s help.

God always calls us to more.

God calls us to more.

And God offers us more.

More help, more grace, more love, more beauty than we can ask or imagine.

Jim Wolgamott knew that and he lived that – he lived a life of hope, gratitude, and generosity – what a gift for us all.

And so, with our own hope, gratitude, and generosity – here in our old but beautifully renewed church - today we renew our faith, and we renew our commitment to God and to one another.

“Glory to God, whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.”

Amen.

Clarity

Clarity

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 11, 2026

Service of Holy Communion and Remembrance

Isaiah 61:1-4

Psalm 31:1-5, 19-21

Romans 8:31-39

Matthew 5:1-10

I think most of you know that my hometown, Jersey City, is just across the Hudson River from Manhattan.

And, although not all Jersey City people are this way, my family was always very New York City-focused.

When I was a kid, there were many weekends when my parents, sister, and I would take the PATH train under the river and into “the city.”

Sometimes, we went up to midtown – but often we’d go downtown, taking the PATH train to the World Trade Center and walking around Lower Manhattan: St. Paul’s Chapel, Trinity Church, Wall Street, Battery Park…

I’m just old enough to remember when the World Trade Center was being completed – I remember one time we saw masons laying bricks in the concourse floor.

Because of all those childhood trips and then later trips as a teenager and adult on my own or with friends, there were few places more familiar to me than the World Trade Center.

I can still so clearly see the very 1970s brown-and-gold signage of the PATH Station, the long bank of escalators from the station up to the concourse, the Gap store at the top of the escalators, the Borders bookstore, the whoosh of the super-fast elevators, the gusts of wind whipping around the plaza at the base of the towers.

I can still see it all so clearly, hear it, feel it.

The day when all of that and much more was lost forever, began with great promise.

Of course, we remember that clear, deep blue sky, that beautiful start to a late summer day.

But for me, that morning was extra-hopeful because the previous night, I had attended my very first seminary class – I was just dipping my toe, testing it out, and I was so excited – it felt like the rest of my life was about to begin

God felt so close.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001, was the second day of school at St. Peter’s Prep, located a few blocks from the Jersey City waterfront. St. Peter’s is my alma mater, and I was a history teacher there – and my top floor classroom had a great view of the New York skyline.

That day, I had a free first period and so I clearly remember the first reports in the faculty room of a plane hitting one of the Twin Towers – we all assumed it must have been a small plane.

I clearly remember a colleague who was sure that some air traffic controller must have really screwed up.

I clearly remember:

The woman stopped in traffic in front of the school, weeping, gasping, her face pressed against the steering wheel.

The fireball as United Flight 175 struck the South Tower.

Watching from my classroom window as the North Tower fell, hearing the rushing sound all the way across the river, a room full of silent boys looking to me for answers.

Our principal’s frequent announcements on the PA, remaining amazingly calm in the crisis, doing his best to reassure us.

Sue’s family leaving messages on our answering machine, panicked, not sure where exactly her office was in the city.

A friend in Germany leaving a message, frightened, choked with tears.

The alarming reports about where else we had been hit, some proving to be true – the Pentagon! - some not.

The people, covered in dust, who made their way across the river by ferry.

It took Sue all day to get back to Jersey City and after we were finally reunited, we stopped at the Burger King drive-thru to pick up dinner.

Getting a call from the rector of our church, Dave Hamilton, checking that we were OK, letting us know that he was having a service that night at the church – and Sue and I walking up to the church, passing a man screaming at a cab driver who had double-parked.

Gathering in the dark church with, I don’t know, maybe 25 other parishioners.

I can’t recall a word Dave said that night, but I clearly remember that in that holy place, even after all that we had witnessed, even after everyone and everything we had lost, and even with the fears of what was yet to come, I clearly remember that, somehow, God felt close.

There was unspeakable suffering – and much confusion and fear - but the events of September 11 and the days that followed offered us clarity.

Clarity about what is most important:

The voicemails we heard from people trapped in burning buildings or on doomed planes, reminding us of what is most essential – over and over, they said, “I love you, I love you.” 

The courage and sacrifice of firefighters and police officers and other first responders who raced into horror, so many losing their lives.

The workers who continued to search and dig in the smoking ruins, first for survivors and then for remains, for many months, doing incredibly grim and dangerous work – work, as we have witnessed in the years since, destructive to their health.

Clarity also about our place in the world – that the vast oceans no longer defend us from attack, that we are vulnerable much like all people are vulnerable.

Clarity about resilience – it didn’t seem possible at the time, but somehow, with God’s help, we continued with our lives – for better or for worse, a memorial and a museum, a soaring train station, and, yes, a shopping mall now occupy “Ground Zero.”

And finally, clarity about the great choice before us – the choice between two opposing ways of life:

The way of violence, hate, vengeance, and war.

Or the way of love, generosity, sacrifice, and peacemaking.

In today’s gospel lesson, in what we call the Beatitudes, Jesus presents his downside-up vision of God’s kingdom, the realm where it’s the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness who are the blessed ones – God’s kingdom where it’s the peacemakers and the persecuted who are blessed.

I don’t know, maybe after everything we’ve been through that all sounds naïve or nonsensical - maybe that‘s how it’s always sounded, but I’m convinced that it’s really the only way – Jesus’ way of love, generosity, sacrifice, and peacemaking is the only way for us – because the other way offers no hope and leads only to more suffering, more destruction.

The way of Jesus takes courage, requires faith that, as St. Paul writes, nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

With clarity, may we remember the events of September 11, 2001, the lives lost in New York, Washington, and Shanksville - the families and dreams shattered.

With clarity, may we recall the heartbreaking expressions of love, the extraordinary acts of heroism.

And with clarity, may we trust that, even when buildings fall and evil and death are all around us, God will never let go of us, no matter what.

Amen.

What a Difference

What a Difference

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 30, 2026

Year A, Proper 17: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 15:15-21

Psalm 26:1-8

Romans 12:9-21

Matthew 16:21-28

Well, what a difference a week makes.

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that we heard what’s usually called “the Confession of St. Peter.”

In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?”

And the disciples share with Jesus what they’ve heard from others – some say that he is John the Baptist, or Elijah, or Jeremiah, or maybe one of the other prophets.

And then Jesus asks his disciples, asks his closest friends, a more pointed question, “But who do you say that I am?”

And, maybe to everyone’s surprise, maybe even to his own surprise, it’s Simon Peter the fisherman who gets the answer exactly right. Peter says,

“You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

Now, whenever I imagine this scene, I see Peter having a mix of pride and shyness. He knows that the others are looking at him, maybe some with admiration – “Way to go, Peter!” – and maybe others are looking at him with envy – “I should have said that” – or, my own favorite, “I was just going to say that!”

But it’s Peter who speaks the truth.

What a wonderful moment for Peter.

And then this moment gets even more wonderful.

Jesus tells Peter that he did not come up with this knowledge on his own, but it was given to him by God. 

And then there’s this:

“And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

Wow!

Now, I can’t get into Peter’s head, of course, but if I were in Peter’s sandals, I’d be feeling a little overwhelmed but also pretty good – I mean, God gave me this secret knowledge and Jesus has given me the keys of the kingdom.

If I’m Peter, all I can see ahead is glory: soon Jesus the Messiah, the Son of the Living God will sit on his splendid throne, and I, Peter, will be his right-hand man, standing beside him with the keys.

And that’s where we pick up today.

For the first time in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells his disciples what is really going to happen to him – a very different kind of glory: Jerusalem, suffering, death, and rising again on the third day.

Imagine the shock of the disciples.

And I think Peter must have been so shocked that he stopped listening after “suffering” and “death” – he doesn’t seem to hear the part about “rising on the third day” – and out of shock and dismay and with great love for his Lord – and maybe also some fear about just what will happen in this scenario to the right-hand man with the keys – Peter “rebukes” Jesus:

“God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”

Now, at this point, we might expect Jesus to be pastoral toward his upset friend, you know, offer him some consolation, some reassurance, but instead Jesus “rebukes” Peter right back, with those now-famous words:

“Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block for me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but earthly things.”

Pretty harsh – way harsher than we would expect.

Maybe Jesus’ harshness is a sign that Peter touched a nerve – you know how something seems to only become real when you say it out loud?

Well, this is the first time that Jesus has spoken his fate, and he may very well be tempted to turn away – and Peter’s well-meaning words are definitely not a help – they are in fact a temptation.

No doubt, Peter had in mind worldly glory for Jesus – and glory for Jesus’ closest followers, very much including Peter himself.

But, following Jesus is not about worldly glory – it’s about carrying our cross – it’s not about gathering as much wealth and power as we can, trying to satisfy a hunger that will never be satisfied by more wealth and more power. 

No, following Jesus is about giving away our lives in loving service to others, giving our lives away because, unlike Peter, we hear the promise of the third day – we know that, with Jesus, hate and death do not get the last word – we trust that, in the end, love and life win.

Of course, this can be hard to believe, difficult to remember, maybe especially these days, but every once in a while, we get reminded of what following Jesus is all about, sometimes in the most surprising people.

On Tuesday morning, I was in the jury waiting room at the Baltimore County Courthouse when my phone – and the phones of a lot of my fellow potential jurors around me – started buzzing with the sad news that Dolly Parton had died.

Now, I can’t say that I knew very much about Dolly Parton – of course, I knew some of her songs, I had seen some of her movies, I knew about Dollywood, and I had heard about her husband Carl Dean, who stayed almost completely out of the limelight during their long marriage. And I knew a little bit about her philanthropy that distributed books to children, Dolly Parton’s “Imagination Library.”

But starting with the whispers of my fellow jurors as they heard the news, I didn’t really grasp how much her life and now her death touched people – that, in a time when we can’t seem to agree on anything or anyone - here was a person almost universally beloved.

In today’s second lesson, St. Paul writes, “Let love be genuine.”

Well, as we’ve heard all week, Dolly Parton was beloved for her genuine love and care and her generosity – for example, her “Imagination Library” has given away over 332 million books to children over the last three decades – an unbelievable number - each one of those books a seed planted in a child’s mind and heart.

And she was also beloved because she stood beside the gay community ever since the worst of the AIDS epidemic, when so many others looked away, or ran away, or worse.

In the last few days there have been many stories of her kindness - and also her determination – some years ago, one CEO came out of a meeting with her and asked, “How can anyone say ‘no’ to her?”

And all this love, courage, determination, and confidence was rooted in her upbringing in the East Tennessee mountains, rooted in her faith – never forgetting where she came from, never forgetting who she was, never forgetting whose she was.

Apparently, she was an early riser – getting up at 3:00 to pray, often asking God two questions: “How can you use me?” and “What can I do today?”

That’s an awfully good prayer.

Her talent and drive earned her a lot of money, yes, but rather than becoming a billionaire, she gave away much of her wealth, gave away her life in loving service, bringing joy and hope, and a lot of fun, to so many people.

In the end, life and love win.

And what about Peter?

Well, for the rest of his life, he’ll show great faith and he’ll also make some big mistakes, especially in the moment when Jesus needed him most.

But in the end, this Galilean fisherman, he went all the way to Rome, where he gave away his life in loving service to Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.

In the end, he was, and remains, the church’s rock.

What a difference a week makes.

What a difference a life – Peter’s Dolly’s, ours – with God’s help, what a difference a life makes.

What a difference a life committed to following Jesus – a life committed to genuine love and generous service – what a difference that kind of holy life makes.

Amen.

Draw the Circle Wide

Draw the Circle Wide

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 16, 2026

Year A, Proper 15: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 56:1, 6-8

Psalm 67

Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32

Matthew 15:10-28

So, one of my summer projects has been trying to deepen my relationships with some of my local clergy colleagues.

I’ve been here five years now, and while I’ve made a couple of clergy friends, there are lots of other people I don’t know well or even at all. So, I’ve been taking advantage of the somewhat slower summer pace to get together for lunch.

Last week, I had a kind of leisurely lunch with a priest who I have gotten to know a bit, but this was definitely our richest conversation. 

We share an interest in social justice and community organizing, so we talked some about that.

And we also got to talking about our futures and she asked me a question that kind of threw me, a question that I don’t think anyone had ever asked me. She said:

“Do you think you’ve achieved the goals that you had for your priesthood?”

“Do you think you’ve achieved the goals that you had for your priesthood?”

I didn’t really have an answer.

I’ve never been one of those people who had a big goal – like those kids in elementary school who knew they wanted to be a doctor, a nurse, a lawyer, whatever and did what they had to do to achieve that goal.

I’m sure some of you were like that, but not me. 

And my first thought was that over the past couple of decades, my goal has often been to “get through it” – not in the sense of “get it over with” (although, sometimes…), but more in the sense of, “I need to get through the ordination process, get through seminary, get ordained, get a job, and so on…”

And wherever I’ve been, including here, I’ve certainly had goals – here, I think of helping to stabilize the church after the pandemic, of moving outreach (which has always been very important here) but moving outreach to a more central place in the church’s life.

Another goal was to reach the point where we could hire a second priest (check!) and now to be the best mentor I can be for Rev. Amelia.

So, plenty of goals.

But, you know, sometimes you can forget your own story.

So, after struggling a bit to think of some big capital “G” goal, I finally remembered my story – in fact, I remembered something I once told you – how, when I was a high school history teacher, I loved having a freshman homeroom – I loved creating a place where the freshmen felt welcome and safe. I loved creating a real sense of homeroom community.

But then, you know how it goes, the school year would end and the following year I would have to start this community-building work all over again.

And it was the goal of helping to build, to strengthen community – a community that lasts much longer than a school year – a holy community of welcome, love, and care – a holy community of baptisms, weddings, funerals, and all the wonderful and hard stuff in between, it was that capital “G” goal that attracted me to this work.

It’s work that I think of as “drawing the circle wide” – drawing the circle wide, inviting everyone in, including, yes, people we may not like, people who seem different, people with whom we disagree about all sorts of things.

Draw the circle wide.

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear Jesus draw the circle wide, at least eventually.

It takes a minute, but Jesus draws the circle wide enough to include this poor Canaanite woman – she’s not a Jew, she’ a Gentile – this persistent woman who annoys the disciples – this desperate mother who begs Jesus to heal her daughter.

“Lord, help me.”

Just like all of you parents, this woman is willing to do anything for her sick child, even asking a Jewish teacher and healer for help – and she doesn’t give up, even when Jesus seems to harshly dismiss her:

“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 

To which she offers one of the best comebacks ever:

“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  

And hearing that comeback, Jesus praises her faith and heals her daughter “instantly.”

And, I don’t know, maybe that was the plan all along, or maybe Jesus was testing the woman’s faith.

Maybe.

Or maybe… the woman’s bold and courageous persistence – her faithfulness – moved Jesus to reach beyond his own Jewish community – to draw the circle wide – wide enough to include this desperate mother and her sick daughter.

Draw the circle wide.

For us, drawing the circle wide is not so much about growing the church, though inviting and welcoming everybody is really important, of course.

But drawing the circle wide is more about sharing our many blessings and gifts – I mean, we are so blessed to be part of this church, right? 

Drawing the circle wide is supporting one another in our times of need and sorrow - and inviting others to step into the circle to share their blessings and gifts.

Drawing the circle wide is about rejecting a culture that teaches us to fear and even hate other people – it’s about following a different way, following the way of Jesus, listening to the voices of others, especially when they cry for help.

Drawing the circle wide changes our hearts.

Community can be quite challenging and sometimes it will even break your heart, but on the whole, being here, being with lots of different people, being here with lots of different kinds of people softens our hearts – and, as Jesus points out in the first part of today’s gospel lesson, our hearts are really important – it’s our heart that can spew out really ugly stuff or share incredible love and generosity. 

Finally, drawing the circle wide moves us in a God-ward direction, moving closer to Isaiah’s beautiful vision of lots of people, people of all different backgrounds, Jews and Canaanites, and Marylanders and, oh yes, New Jerseyans, all of us gathered on God’s holy mountain, loving and praising God, forever.

All week, as I’ve been reflecting on today’s sermon, I’ve been mindful that right now there are quite a few of us who are facing some very hard times – and I hope and pray that being part of our St. Thomas’ circle is a comfort and support for them, for you.

A most important goal.

And I’ve also been thinking about words written by Gordon Light, a Canadian Anglican bishop, words that have been set to beautiful music, words that are meaningful even unadorned with melody:

“Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.

Let this be our song. No one stands alone.

We’ll stand side by side.

Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.

Draw the circle, draw it wider still.

Let this be our song, be our song: no one stands alone.

Standing side by side.

Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.

In your sadness and in your grief,

All the pain, it seems there’s no relief.

We will hold you until the storm subsides.

Draw the circle, draw the circle wide.”

Amen.

More than Enough

More than Enough

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 2, 2026

Year A, Proper 13: The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

Isaiah 55:1-5

Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22

Romans 9:1-5

Matthew 14:13-21

In last week’s sermon, I talked about “spillages,” this idea of free-writing – just writing whatever pops into our head, not worrying about grammar or spelling or clarity – just letting it all spill out onto the page.

And I suggested that our prayer can be like that – our prayer can be “spiritual spillages” – just spilling out our hearts to God, all the good, bad, and ugly stuff – spilling out our hearts with confidence because we know that God already knows what’s in our heart and God will not let go of us, no matter what.

I have found “spillages” to be a really rewarding practice, both for my writing and my spiritual life.

But one unexpected side effect has been that I seem to remember my dreams better.

I try to write early in the morning, as soon as I can brew that first cup of coffee.

And to my surprise, often my “spillages” begins with recalling as much as I can from that night’s dreams.

So, on Wednesday morning, I remembered a dream that seems to have included all of you.

We were all together at a party – it was kind of like a cocktail party – some people were sitting down but most people seemed to be standing, juggling their beverage and one of those little appetizer plates and a napkin – you know how that it is.

I think we may have been on a boat – it felt like that – and it was crowded – we were all very close together.

And as I remember it, we were all there – I saw people I see all the time but also some people we don’t see very often and others who haven’t been here in quite a while.

And the emotion I remember feeling was joy – joy at being together and celebrating – I don’t know what we were celebrating – maybe we were just celebrating being together – celebrating that there was more than enough – more than enough food and drink – more than often friendship and fellowship – more than enough love. 

More than enough.

Now, by Tuesday night, I was already thinking about today’s gospel lesson – the familiar story of the Multiplication of the Loaves and the Fishes – so, my dream may very well have been shaped by this most beautiful story – a story so important, a story that reveals so much about Jesus, that it’s the only one of Jesus’ miraculous signs included in all four gospels.

The story begins with Jesus taking a boat to a deserted place for himself. 

But this attempt at getting some alone time fails – the people are simply too hungry – they are hungry for Jesus, hungry for his teaching, hungry for his healing, and, it turns out, the people are just plain hungry.

To their credit, the disciples realize that the hunger of this huge crowd in a deserted place is a big problem.

They try to get ahead of the problem by telling – not asking, but telling – Jesus to send the crowds away, so they can go to town, buy food, fend for themselves.

Seems reasonable, but the disciples should have known that Jesus would have something else in mind. Jesus says,

“They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

Again, the perfectly reasonable disciples think this is impossible – they’ve only got five loaves and two fish – there’s just nowhere near enough for the thousands of hungry people.

Well, you heard the story.

With Jesus there is enough.

With Jesus there is more than enough.

But, like the first disciples, believing in that abundance, recognizing that abundance, sharing that abundance, can be a challenge – we need reminders, we need to pay attention.

I’ve told you before that, by nature, I tend to be an anxious person – I see my glass as half-empty. My mind often quickly flies to the worst-case scenario.

What if, what if, what if…

But, partly because of the writing - the spillages, the journaling – I think I’ve been doing better with that – I’ve been doing what a very wise parishioner suggested, “Remember to pray and think positively.”

And last week, when I met with my spiritual director, we talked about some of the good stuff that’s happened lately – the capital campaign, the church construction nearing the finish line, Sue’s exciting new job, the writer’s conference, the arrival of Kate Julian, who will be working with our children and youth.

Enough.

More than enough.

Much more than I could have ever imagined.

Now, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have to deal with fears and challenges, of course.

And, probably more than anybody, I’m aware of the fears and challenges that many of you face – and I also know that I don’t know everything that’s going on in your lives.

But I think of the long-ago thousands of hungry people enjoying what I’m sure was a particularly delicious meal of bread and fish.

I think of my dream of all of us gathered on, let’s call it the S.S. St. Thomas, all of us close together, feasting, celebrating.

I think of our capital campaign and the sandwiches made for Paul’s Place, right here, by our parishioners, just this past Wednesday morning.

And I think of the service I attended at our cathedral on Wednesday afternoon.

You may remember that back in June I told you about a man I called “Mark.”

Maybe about a year and a half ago, Mark was diagnosed with a very serious case of cancer. One of our parishioners connected him to me and we had a couple of long, challenging, but also rich and beautiful phone conversations.

And then he was doing better and we just exchanged a few quick texts, just checking in.

But then a few months ago, unfortunately, Mark’s cancer returned. And he got back in touch asking if we could meet in person, that he had a question for me.

And if you remember me telling you this story, you may remember that he had been going around asking different people a question that I certainly did not expect:

“Why do you believe in God?”

That threw me a bit, but we ended up having a very long and meaningful conversation.

And then, about two weeks ago Mark texted me again. He wanted to tell me that he had decided to become an Episcopalian, that he had joined a church near his home. I was sorry that it wasn’t St. Thomas’, but very glad that he had found a spiritual home as he and his family journey down this next hard stretch of road.

Well, on Wednesday afternoon, about 25 of Mark’s family and friends gathered at the cathedral where Bishop Carrie formally received Mark and his wife into the Episcopal Church.

This was one of the most moving services I’ve ever attended – a dying man who has been on a spiritual quest chose to say yes to Jesus, chose to become a disciple, chose to trust that God will not let go of him, no matter what.

When it was time for Communion, we all gathered around the altar, making this ancient ritual feel more like a family meal.

It felt more like what we call the Last Supper but what was really the “first supper.” Gathered around the altar together, seeing each other’s faces, watching as one by one we stretched our hands and were fed, it felt like that amazing day when the disciples and thousands of hungry people discovered that with Jesus there is enough, there is more than enough.

With Jesus there is enough.

With Jesus there is more than enough.

Amen.

Spiritual Spillages

Spiritual Spillages

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills, MD

July 26, 2026

Year A, Proper 12: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 3:5-12

Psalm 119:129-136

Romans 8:26-39

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

So, I’m still buzzing about the writers’ conference I attended down at St. Mary’s College in southern Maryland.

It’s been a month ago already, but I feel like I’m just beginning to absorb all that I experienced and learned during that amazing week from the outstanding teachers and super-talented participants.

And as I’ve continued to reflect on that time and those lessons, I’ve come to see that there is quite a lot of overlap between cultivating a creative life and nurturing a spiritual life.

In fact, a friend of mine told me the other day that she heard a poet say that all poets want to be priests!

And, perhaps, the opposite is true, too: all priests want to be poets!

On our first full day at the conference, we gathered for a talk about how to make an “artful life.”

And we heard that the most important thing is to simply show up, to make a commitment to doing the work, choosing to give the work our time and attention, creating a good habit - because nothing is going to happen unless we devote time and attention. Maybe that’s actually writing (or painting, or making music, or sculpting, or whatever). Or, maybe that’s just shutting down all our devices and just thinking, imagining, seeing where our minds and hearts take us.

One of the best tips I picked up was spending some time each day “free-writing,” just writing whatever comes to mind, not worrying about content, grammar, spelling, making sense…just writing.

One person called this free-writing, “spillages.”

Letting the thoughts and words just spill out of us – spillages – and then, occasionally, looking back over our spillages and maybe “gleaning” some memory, or idea, or even just a word, that we might want to explore or pursue.

Spillages.

Turning to today’s Bible lessons, honestly, it’s hard to know where to begin.

In the Old Testament lesson, we have God sounding kind of genie-like, saying to King Solomon, “ask what I should give you.”

And Solomon asks for wisdom – which, when you think of it, is a really wise request. Perhaps that’s a reminder that God is not a genie, that God has already given us all the good gifts that we really need.

And in today’s gospel lesson, we heard a collection of Jesus’ parables.

Jesus gets us thinking about the importance of smallness – the potential of smallness – the tiny mustard seed grows into a home for birds – the little bit of yeast produces a whole lot of bread - and the small pearl is so valuable that at least one merchant would sell everything to possess it.

And Jesus also reminds us of judgment – that we will be held responsible for how we live our lives – so, if we need to change our ways, the time is now.

And then there is the particularly rich passage from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans – there’s enough in there for many sermons, but I’ve been especially reflecting on Paul’s beautiful – and very honest - words on prayer:

“The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.”

If you were here a couple of weeks ago, you may remember that we heard one of Jesus’ most familiar parables, the Parable of the Sower.

And in my sermon, I suggested that while the sower and the seeds are definitely important, the parable really hinges on the soil – is the soil healthy enough to receive the seeds, to nurture the seeds, to allow the seeds to take root and grow into something abundant and beautiful?

And of course, the parable is not really about agriculture or gardening – it’s about our souls, about how we receive the Good News, how we welcome God’s blessings and let God’s gifts take root and grow in our hearts, producing amazing abundance for us and for others.

And I talked about how we might cultivate our “soil” by, for example, cutting back on cable news, by just talking and talking and listening together.

But one of the most important ways for us to open our hearts, to cultivate our souls, is prayer – prayer when we’re together here, and also prayer when we’re alone, when it’s just God and us.

And this is exactly where a lot of us run into a problem.

I can’t tell you how many times parishioners, both here and everywhere I’ve been, how many times people have said to me, “I don’t know how to pray.”

“I don’t know how to pray.”

If it’s any comfort, this is a long-standing problem.

Jesus’ own disciples asked him to teach them how to pray.

And as we heard today from St. Paul, writing in the middle of the first century, even he, even the earliest Jesus followers, they did not know how to pray as they ought.

There are, of course, many thousands of prayers that we can read and recite.

And there are many thousands of books on prayer – I’ve got a bunch of them that I’m happy to lend you.

But the longer I’m at this, I’m more convinced that learning to pray is a lot like what I learned at the writer’s conference:

Showing up.

Making time – even just a little bit of time.

Listening carefully.

And maybe we should try spiritual spillages, whether we write it down or think it or just say it – just let it out and tell God what’s in our heart.

And, who knows, as we spill our hearts, we may glean some holy insights, some ideas or nudges that we might want to explore more deeply.

And, no doubt, our prayer will always be imperfect but, as St. Paul understood, the Spirit intercedes on our behalf with “sighs too deep for words.”

And, of course, God already knows what’s in our hearts anyway, God understands our hearts far better than we ever will.

And, you know, maybe prayer – our imperfect spiritual spillages – maybe prayer is like a mustard seed that can take root in our souls, growing our hearts, growing our souls, our lives – making our hearts even more beautiful than a pearl, making our lives more beautiful than we could have ever imagined.

So, at this point, I’m hoping maybe at least some of you are considering giving a little more time to prayer.

But maybe some of you have tried many times and felt like you’ve failed, and all this talk of spillages and gleaning has been… unconvincing.

I get it – and while prayer is certainly important, it’s not what’s most important.

What’s most important is that God has already given us everything we really need.

What’s most important is God’s indissoluble, unbreakable bond with us.

What’s most important is that, while we will be judged on our lives, God will not let go of us, no matter what.

And nobody has ever expressed this great and comforting truth better than St. Paul. So, I’ll give him the last word:

“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Amen.