Everyday Mountaintop Experiences

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 15, 2026

Year A: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Exodus 24:12-18

Psalm 2

2 Peter 1:16-21

Matthew 17:1-9

Everyday Mountaintop Experiences

Today we reach the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before the start of Lent on Wednesday.

      On Ash Wednesday, we will gather here to be reminded that we are dust and to dust we shall return.

     We will receive crosses of ash to remember that someday we will die – which most of us are well aware of – but these ashes are also a sign of our total dependence on God, the God who not let go of us, never, not even in death.

Lent is a season for repentance and sacrifice. 

      And Lent is also a powerful call to mindfulness, a season to really pay attention to what’s going on in our lives, seeking signs of God’s presence, God’s activity, within and among us.

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that I talked about synchronicity and keeping a synchronicity journal.

For the past couple of years, I have been keeping a journal. I’ve tried to do this a few times in the past, but this is the first time I’ve been consistent about it.

It’s not specifically a synchronicity journal but almost every day, I’ve managed to write one page. I think that’s the key. One page feels manageable, doable, to me. 

Aiming for more than that, or just being open-ended about it, would be overwhelming and I would convince myself that I just don’t have the time for it and my mostly blank journal would eventually get shoved into the back of some drawer.

But I can almost always manage one page.

Partly my journal is just a record of what happened – where I went, what I saw, did, and said, and what other people said and did.

Sometimes I write about hard stuff – misunderstandings, conflict, illness, death – and other times I record joy – wonderful, often unexpected, blessings.

And occasionally I write short prayers – very short, I’ve only got one page – asking God’s help with something or offering written prayers for particular people.

      And sometimes I even remember to write “thank you.” 

So, if you are still looking for a Lenten practice – there’s certainly nothing wrong with giving up a bad habit or refraining from some luxury – but I think journaling can be a very powerful and beneficial practice.

Maybe because it makes me slow down and pay attention, journaling has also refreshed my memory – helping me recall things that I had buried in the past – embarrassing things, regrets, sins, yes – but the journal also helps me remember long-ago blessings that I had forgotten, especially seemingly small moments, what we might call everyday mountaintop experiences

Everyday mountaintop experiences.

At the end of last week, I made a quick trip to Jersey City to visit my parents and my sister – everything’s fine, I just hadn’t seen them in a couple of months.

As perhaps you’ve heard, I lived most of my life in Jersey City so, of course, there are so many memories there, just about everywhere I look.

But on this visit, besides seeing my family, I also spent time on the campus of St. Peter’s Prep, my high school alma mater, the school where I later taught history until I left for seminary and priesthood.

It was so good to be back, but also a little disorienting. I hadn’t been inside the school in nearly ten years, so lots of things are quite different.

And yet, despite all the changes, my mind was flooded by many memories, including two that I would call everyday mountaintop experiences.

So, when I was growing up, my family always just assumed that I would go to St. Peter’s Prep. 

I guess my family really believed in me because, not to brag, but St. Peter’s was and is the best Catholic boys’ school around – it’s just a fact!

I’m not sure how much pressure I felt about the assumption I would go to St. Peter’s. I think I always just believed it, too. And I was a pretty good student, with one painful exception: math.

I always struggled with math.

I didn’t understand it – and, honestly, once we got past arithmetic, I just didn’t see the point.

I had absolutely no interest in solving for x.

But, despite my poor math skills, I was indeed accepted by St. Peter’s Prep, and those four years shaped the rest of my life.

So, here’s the first memory:

One day in my freshman year, I was pushing open one of the swinging doors that led to a stairwell when suddenly I heard the bells ringing from the Orthodox church across the street, which was a daily event.

But in that moment – I can still see it and feel it – in that moment, I thought, “I’m here. I’m really here. I go to St. Peter’s Prep.”

And I was flooded with gratitude and amazement that I had made it and it was really happening,

Everyday mountaintop experiences.

And here’s the second memory:

After I graduated, I had really hoped to return to St. Peter’s as a teacher. I thought that would just be the best job ever and if I managed to land a spot, I was sure I would stay there for the rest of my life.

(Yes, I know, I know, God is full of surprises!)

Well, it took a couple of tries but eventually I got it – I was hired to teach history.

That was big – and I was so excited.

There was just one kind of awkward, frightening situation.

Many of my teachers were still on the faculty – and, besides having to force myself to call them by their first names – that was fine.

Except there was this one math teacher…

A math teacher who, I have to say, had been pretty tough on me – a math teacher who had seen me at my academic worst – a math teacher who I was sure was thinking, “My God, this school is really going down the drain if they’ve hired the likes of Murphy!”

And then it was the first day back from summer vacation, the first faculty meeting, and before the start of business we were all chatting in the library, catching up, making introductions. At one point, from across the room my former math teacher caught my eye, and she summoned me by curling her finger.

I made my way over like I was heading to my execution.

But when I got close to her, she suddenly smiled and she said, “Good things come to those who wait.”

In that moment I just felt huge relief but as I remember it now, I think of it as a sign that we are not defined by our weaknesses and mistakes – we are more than that in God’s heart and in the hearts of others, even really tough math teachers.

Everyday mountaintop experiences.

On this last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before Lent, we always hear the story of the Transfiguration – much more than an everyday mountaintop experience for Jesus and for his friends, Peter, James, and John.

The Transfiguration is a vision with rich symbolism:

Jesus is affirmed by the presence of two central figures of Israel’s past: Moses and Elijah.

Jesus is both transformed but still himself, a foreshadowing of Easter.

  And much like at Jesus’ baptism, a voice from heaven announces: “This is my Son, my Beloved; with him I well pleased; listen to him!”

The most poignant moment in the story is when Peter wants to build dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Peter wants to memorialize this mountaintop experience, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

And who can blame him, right?

But, of course, that’s not the way it works.

And so, Jesus and his friends come down the mountain and begin the journey to Jerusalem and all that awaits them there.

We all know that feeling of returning to the ordinary after an extraordinary experience.

We all know what it feels like to face something frightening, to face something painful.

        And yet, in the ordinary times, and even in the hard times, there are everyday mountaintop experiences: simple, beautiful, powerful moments when we can feel God’s presence, God’s activity, within and among us.

If only we remember to pay attention.

Amen.

Synchronicity

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 8, 2026

Year A: The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 58:1-12

Psalm 112

1 Corinthians 2:1-16

Matthew 5:13-20

Synchronicity

Well, the leaders of our church had a very busy January.

As most of you know, throughout the month we held Focus Group meetings on Sundays after the morning services and on Zoom during the week.

These meetings were an opportunity for our leaders to present a vision of how we might meet some of our current needs and to dream a little bit about the future of this old but quite active church.

It was really gratifying to see how many of you attended the meetings – sometimes coming back for more – and it was great that so many of you shared your own ideas and hopes.

A month ago, the kitchen was much lower on our priority list than it is now.

And we heard you about enhancing our offerings for children and youth.

Whatever we decide about a capital campaign – whatever the outcome of this process – the work we’ve been doing – the work itself – has been holy and valuable.

In spiritual terms, we’ve been engaged in discernment – sacred listening and reflection – opening our eyes, ears, minds, and hearts to determine God’s will for us – trying our best to follow where God is leading.

Unfortunately, discernment is often limited to people like Rev. Amelia and me, who have “discerned” that we are called to ordained ministry.

But God is always calling all of us – both lay and ordained.

God is always calling us onward, nudging us forward.

But God is usually subtle, so we have to pray and listen and reflect on our own, and together as a community.

When I was in seminary, I actually took a whole class about discernment.

It was a great course, though I sometimes think I should have paid more attention – I’ve kind of zigzagged a lot over these past twenty years.

But one of the discernment exercises that we did in the class has stuck with me: we were each asked to create a synchronicity journal. 

A synchronicity journal.

The idea was that when we wrote in our journal, we should pay close attention to how different strands of our life that might seem disconnected could be heading in the same direction, kind of like a spiritual merge onto the “Beltway” of life.

So, here’s a very basic example: let’s say the rector of your church suggested that, you know, you would make a great lector. Would you consider reading the lessons or leading the prayers in church?

“Hmm. Well, thank you! I’ll consider it.”

And then, during the week somebody at work says to you, you know, you have a great voice. Have you ever done radio or voiceovers?

Well, that would be a couple of different strands, from different parts of your life, seemingly coincidental but, in fact, converging, heading in the same direction.

And so, in your synchronicity journal, you might notice these converging strands and write about that and think about how God might be calling you – how God might be calling you to use your voice.

Now, synchronicity isn’t magic and you can’t force it, but when you really start paying attention, you’re likely to become more aware of God’s call and God’s will.

And synchronicity isn’t just something that happens to us.

With God’s help, we can choose synchronicity.

We can line up the different strands of our life so they all point in more or less the same direction.

We can live lives of integrity and consistency.

We can live in a way so that what we say and do here in church matches what we say and do out in the world.

Which brings me to today’s powerful and challenging first lesson from the Prophet Isaiah.

Here’s the context:

In the 6th Century BCE, at least some of the people of Israel returned from exile in Babylon.

They had thought that once they got back home, all their problems would be solved, and God would restore Israel’s might, power, and glory.

But that has not happened – and the people are puzzled.

I mean, they think they’re doing everything right – they’re going to the temple and making the required sacrifices – the necessary prayers are being offered – they’re even fasting, for heaven’s sake.

And still nothing.

So, what’s the problem?

Well, speaking through the Prophet Isaiah, God gives the answer: Your worship and prayer and sacrifices don’t match how you are living your lives.

While you’re busy being “religious,” you’re also oppressing your workers.

      While you’re busy being “religious,” you’re fighting among yourselves.

      This inconsistency, this incongruity, is a sad state of affairs – one that should be familiar to us because throughout history - and certainly today - we’ve seen people say they are Christians, wear shiny symbols of our faith, go to church and pray piously, and then go out into the world and say and do the most appalling things.

      It’s a sad state of affairs, but God didn’t leave the people Israel there.

      And God doesn’t leave us there, either.

      God calls us back to synchronicity – back to consistency and integrity between what we say and do in here and what we say and do out there in the world.

      God says:

 Is not this the fast that I choose:

to loose the bonds of injustice,

to undo the thongs of the yoke,

to let the oppressed go free,

and to break every yoke?

        Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,

and bring the homeless poor into your house;

when you see the naked, to cover them,

and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

        Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,

and your healing shall spring up quickly;

your vindicator shall go before you,

the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.

        Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer;

you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

Today, considering what’s going on around us, we might want to take the bulletin home with us and reread those words - reflect, and pray on those words.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus picks up on the theme of light – calling us to let our light shine – not to brag, not to be praised or admired by others, but so people give glory to God.

And, you know, the fastest way for us to dim our light is by being inconsistent between how we are in here and how we are out there.

People see and smell that and will rightfully reject us as hypocrites, like so many others.

But if, with God’s help, if we gather the different strands of our life and live synchronous lives – if we live as the same people when we’re in church or at home or at work or at school or in the store or in the car or on the internet – if we live those kinds of lives, then God is glorified. 

      And our overshadowed world will receive much-needed light.

Amen.

Everyone Is Invited

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 18, 2026

Year A: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 49:1-7

Psalm 40:1-12

1 Corinthians 1:1-9

John 1: 29-42

Everyone Is Invited

As I hope you all know by now, we have begun holding Focus Group Meetings, on Sundays after the two morning services and also during the week on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

The Sunday meetings are in person, over in the Parish Hall, and the weekday meetings are on Zoom, which we hope will give everyone who loves St. Thomas’ an opportunity to attend and participate.

I have found the first four meetings to be very moving experiences.

It’s been inspiring to hear our wardens and other leaders present a vision of how we can continue to build on the firm foundation that we’ve inherited from our spiritual ancestors – how we can care for our organ so that it can ring out with God’s praises for many years to come – how we can appropriately remember our brothers and sisters buried in the North Cemetery – how we can live even more deeply into our vocation as a servant church.

Our leaders have been presenting a lot of information, plenty of facts and figures, but, most of all, they’ve been speaking from the heart.

The love that our leaders have for this place and our ministries has been shining forth so beautifully.

And it’s not just our leaders.

What I like most about how we’re doing these Focus Group Meetings is that, not only is everyone invited to attend, but everyone is invited to share their thoughts, to share what they – you – see as our greatest needs.

Everyone is invited to reflect on what God might be calling us to do.

Everyone is invited to dream.

Everyone is invited.

It hadn’t really occurred to me until a couple of days ago, that we are undertaking these conversations and reflections – we are extending these invitations – during the season of Epiphany – which, some of you will remember, was the name of our last capital campaign, twenty-five years ago.

Epiphany means “manifestation.”

And during these weeks between Christmas and Lent, we celebrate the manifestation of Christ to the people of the world.

Epiphany begins with the arrival of the stargazing, gift-bearing Magi – the mysterious visitors from the East.

Although they’re not Jews, they travel far to honor the newborn king, to pay him homage.

And then last Sunday, we heard the story of Jesus’ baptism – when anyone who happened to be listening would have heard the voice of God declare:

“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Epiphany.

The manifestation of Christ to the people of the world.

And now, in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we hear John the Baptist remember baptizing Jesus.

And then John points to Jesus.

John points to Jesus and says, “Look! Here is the Lamb of God.”

Another epiphany – an epiphany that draws Andrew and the other disciple to follow Jesus, to find out what this “Lamb of God” is all about.

And there are more epiphanies: Jesus gently invites Andrew and the other disciple to “Come and see.”

And then Andrew passes on the invitation to his brother Simon and before we know it, Jesus has begun gathering his little band of followers, the little band that will eventually grow into the church all around the world, including right here at St. Thomas’.

Right here at St. Thomas’, where everyone is invited to participate, not only in our Focus Group meetings, but everyone is invited to participate in everything.

St. Thomas’, where everyone is invited.

I really like the words of today’s opening prayer, what’s called the collect:

“Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory.”

Isn’t that beautiful?

And, you know, one of the privileges of my job is that I get to see so many of you shining with the radiance of Christ’s glory all the time.

I see the radiance of Christ’s glory shining through our Focus Group presenters, people who care so much about the mission of the church, people who devote an extraordinary amount of time and talent to strengthen our church so we can be even more faithful, more effective in sharing the Good News in word and deed.

I see the radiance of Christ’s glory shining through so many of you who have already attended our meetings, wanting the best for this holy place, sharing your experiences and insights.

And, of course, I see the radiance of Christ’s glory shining through you any day of the week as you tutor children at Owings Mills Elementary School, make sandwiches for the hungry, make sure our church is ready and beautiful for worship, sing God’s praises, welcome people as they arrive at church, teach our children, care for our cemetery, puzzle over The Screwtape Letters, and on and on.

And I see the radiance of Christ’s glory shining through you each time you invite someone into our community, each time you pass along Jesus’ holy invitation to “come and see.”

These holy invitations – these holy invitations to people who may not even know what they’re looking for – these holy invitations are so important.

In fact, a holy invitation once changed my life.

I’ve told you this story at least once before, but it’s a good one, and, besides, not everyone’s heard it.

So, about twenty-five years ago, I was teaching history at St. Peter’s Prep in Jersey City, my high school alma mater.

Sue and I had been married for a couple of years and things were good. But at some point, I realized that, although I was sort of getting church through my job, it wasn’t something that Sue and I shared.

So, I suggested that we go to Mass at our local Catholic church.

I won’t get into details but, in short, it was not a good experience.

The following week, I was telling this story in the faculty room, probably exaggerating how uninspiring the service was to get cheap laughs. After the room settled down, one of my colleagues, Patty Nickerson, said quietly, “You should come to my church sometime.”

And the following Sunday, Sue and I accepted Patty’s invitation and worshiped at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, just a few blocks from our house in Jersey City.

And not unlike Andrew and the other disciple and Peter, that invitation changed our lives – sending us down a path that I could not have imagined, opening us to experiences we could not have dreamed, eventually leading us here with all of you.

After I talked about that long-ago holy invitation during our Wednesday Bible Study, a few others who were there told their stories of invitation – simple, quiet invitations that changed them, invitations that led them to St. Thomas’, invitations that were indeed epiphanies, manifestations of Christ.

So, it’s the Season of Epiphany and Christ is being manifested to our weary and hurting world.

It’s the Season of Epiphany, and as always, our church is jumping with plenty of activity – opportunities for worship and learning, chances to dream big about our future, ways to care for one another and to tend to our community.

It’s the Season of Epiphany and the radiance of Christ’s glory is shining through St. Thomas’, shining through you.

It’s the Season of Epiphany and everyone – absolutely everyone – is invited.

Amen.

God’s Indissoluble Bond of Love

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 11, 2026

Year A: The First Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 42:1-9

Psalm 29

Acts 10:34-43

Matthew 3:13-17

God’s Indissoluble Bond of Love

I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long time since Sue and I have attended a New Year’s Eve Party.

Instead, for us, New Year’s Eve is pretty much like any other night.

I’m an early riser, so I never stay up to watch the Times Square countdown.

I will say that this year my sleep was interrupted by the midnight fireworks – so I was drowsily and none too happily alerted that a new year had begun.

Didn’t these people know that January 1 is the Feast of the Holy Name and we had a service at 9:00 am!?!

I guess not.

Even though in reality it’s just another day, many of us invest at least some meaning in the end of one year and the start of another.

There are all those “Best of” lists: books, movies, music, ... sermons.

Of course, some of us make New Year’s resolutions.

And for a week or two, the gyms are a little more crowded, and the bars maybe a little less so.

But the truth is that, starting a new year doesn’t make much difference in our lives and certainly not in the world.

All the challenges and horrors of the old year are still very much with us.

This is always true, of course, but maybe it’s even more true this year.

Our divisions seem as deep as ever.

We can watch the same videos of the tragic killing of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis – we can see the same images and draw wildly different conclusions.

Maybe that’s always been true. 

What’s definitely true is that our world is clearly entering a new era. 

      Old norms of speech and behavior have been discarded.

      Old alliances are being strained, even dismantled.

      The postwar order – the only order most have us have ever known – is ending.

And something new, or perhaps something very old, is beginning.

Some of us think this change is long overdue and welcome.

While others of us worry, what kind of world awaits us when so much that we have known and trusted and even taken for granted is passing away?

So, maybe it’s more important than ever for us to remember the one bond that can never be broken, no matter the change of year, no matter the change of season, no matter war or peace.

Maybe it’s more important than ever for us to remember that, in baptism, God makes an indissoluble bond of love with us.

No matter what we do or don’t do, no matter what happens in the world around us, God just won’t ever let go of us.

In baptism, God makes an indissoluble bond of love with us.

Today, on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, we always hear the story of Jesus’ baptism.

In somewhat different ways, all four gospels tell us about Jesus’ baptism.

Today we heard Matthew’s version, which presents the story as both a personal experience for Jesus – he sees God’s Spirit descending upon him like a dove – and also as a public event – God announces to anyone listening:

“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

At our Wednesday Bible Study, we talked about a couple of interesting questions:

When did Jesus fully grasp who he was?

When did he fully understand his mission?

It could be that, in some sense, Jesus knew all along.

Or maybe there came a time when Mary sat him down and told him the story of his miraculous birth, the angel, the shepherds, the Magi.

“Son, there are some things I need to tell you.”

Or maybe it was a gradual awakening and understanding.

Or maybe it was not until the first Easter morning when he left the tomb.

We don’t really know, but if you and I have ever met, then you know that I think it’s at his baptism that Jesus learns who he really is, whose he is, and what he is meant to do.

And in the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke, right after Jesus’ baptism, he is sent into the wilderness to undergo forty days and nights of testing.

And then Jesus begins his work of love, healing, teaching, sacrifice.

And I would suggest that it’s at our baptism that we learn who we really are, whose we are, and what we are meant to do.

We are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.

And knowing that God has made an indissoluble bond of love with us, we can, with God’s help, do the ongoing work of love, healing, teaching, sacrifice.

I would also say that in this most uncertain time, the church is more important than ever – this church is more important than ever for us.

Yes, of course, we can pray anywhere and discover God at Wegmans or Royal Farms, or out on the NCR Trail.

And, yes, you could certainly be baptized elsewhere, maybe in the Chesapeake or even the kitchen sink.

But it’s here that we that we gather around the font and pray with and for the newly baptized.

It’s here that we gather with people, all different kinds of people, yes, people who watch the same video and see things we don’t see – all different kinds of people and we pray together, serve together, love one another.

The church is more important than ever – this church is more important than ever.

And it needs our support.

I’m always reluctant to talk about pledging because, obviously, I have some self-interest. But there are a still some very faithful parishioners – people who I know love this place – who have not yet pledged.

The money is important, but it’s the commitment – our commitment to this place – that matters most.

In this uncertain time, our church is more important than ever – and there’s nobody else to take care of this beautiful community, this beautiful place – just us – so we really need everyone “all in.”

And today we hold our first focus group meetings, to look more deeply at the needs of our church, to dream a bit about our future, and to reflect on what God might be calling us to do.

In religious language, the process we’re beginning today is called discernment – and prayerful discernment is always worthwhile, always good, no matter the outcome.

So, I hope that you’ll participate in at least one of these sessions and share your thoughts on our plans, on our future.

So, by nature, I am a somewhat anxious person.

I try to keep a lid on it, but it’s true.

Of course, I worry about lots of things, but I am not frightened of the future.

I’m not frightened because we have one another. We have this amazing community of love, healing, teaching, sacrifice.

I’m not frightened because just as Jesus was baptized, I was baptized – we were baptized.

And in the water of baptism, God has made an indissoluble bond of love with me, an indissoluble bond of love with us all.

God just won’t let go of us.

No matter the year, no matter the season, no matter what.

Amen.

The Unsentimental Story of God With Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 4, 2026

The Second Sunday after Christmas (5:00 pm)

Jeremiah 31:7-14

Psalm 84

Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a

Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

The Unsentimental Story of God With Us

I know that I keep going on about how wonderful this Christmas has been here at St. Thomas’ – and that’s because it really has been wonderful!

The Christmas flowers and greenery looked great, and Jon has led the choir to make extraordinarily beautiful music.

For me, seeing and hearing the Junior Choir was one of the best Christmas gifts. The other day, I went on YouTube and pulled up the video of the 4:00 service. When the kids began to sing “Away in a Manger,” Sue, who was sitting across from me, said, “They sound so good!”

They sure did.

And, of course, there were lots of people in church, including many people we may only see once or twice a year.

But they were here, thank God!

Yes, thanks to the hard work of many, our Christmas celebrations were beautiful.

And let’s admit it, our Christmas celebrations were also sentimental – the carols, the Christmas Pageant, the candlelight singing of “Silent Night,” all of that and more is quite sentimental.

And there’s definitely a place for sentimentality. (I’m sure it’s one of the big attractions for all those people who came to church on Christmas Eve!) But, if we’re not careful, sentimentality can easily smooth the hard edges of the Christmas story.

The sentimentality can hide the great Christmas truth that God is now with us in a new and unexpected way.

        Emmanuel means “God with us.”

        And, in and through Jesus, God is with us, right here in our messed-up world.

        So, on this Second Sunday after Christmas, let’s strip away some of the sentimentality from the Christmas story:

Mary gives birth far from home. There aren’t any older and experienced women present to see her through her first birth. She’s on her own, with Joseph by her side, which I’m sure was comforting but I don’t know how much help, how much expertise, he could offer.

And, of course, the Son of God isn’t born in a grand palace – there’s not even room for him at the Bethlehem inn. Mary and Joseph are forced to place the swaddled child in a manger, a sentimental word for a feeding trough meant for animals.

In and through Jesus, God is with us.

        God is especially with the people struggling to provide for their families.

It’s still Christmas, but just until Tuesday!

By now, the crowds at church have thinned out…just a bit! 

That’s too bad for lots of reasons, but especially because they miss out on the rest of the Christmas story, the parts of the story we say little about on Christmas Eve, the parts of the story much harder to sentimentalize.

We all know about the Magi, the mysterious stargazers from the East, who go searching for the newborn king. Logically enough, they first go to the capital city where Herod expresses, let’s say, “keen interest” in meeting his young rival, the newborn king of the Jews.

        So, Herod tells the Magi to report back after they’ve found him.

And, of course, the Magi do find the king and present their symbolic gifts of gold for a king, frankincense for a god, and myrrh, which was used to anoint a corpse.

But, warned in a dream not to return to Herod, the Magi bravely become fugitives, and return home by a different route.

An enraged Herod went on the warpath, slaughtering the children of Bethlehem, desperately and ruthlessly trying to kill the young king.

        The murder of those children was both an incomprehensible and heart-shattering tragedy for the families of Bethlehem, and also a powerful sign that the tyrants of the world are after Jesus right from the start – and we know that they will eventually get Jesus and nail him to a cross.

In and through Jesus, God is with us.

        God is especially with victims of violence; God is with all those who suffer at the hands of tyrants.

Finally, we come to today’s gospel passage.

In yet another dream, Joseph is warned about Herod’s murderous intentions, and so he and Mary take Jesus and flee for safety in Egypt, saving the Son of God’s life.

There are obvious Old Testament echoes in this story.

Think of Joseph with his famous coat of many colors. Joseph was sold by his brothers into slavery in Egypt and then, years later, welcoming his people during a time of famine.

And then, as we heard today, eventually the Holy Family will make their way back out of Egypt, a reminder of Moses leading his people from slavery to the promised land.

Yes, there are biblical echoes but there’s also the stark fact in this story that we often forget, a truth that seems to surprise even regular churchgoers:

         Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were refugees.

         Like so many people before and since, like so many people today, Mary, Joseph, and Jesus had to flee from oppression and violence, journeying from home to a foreign land, seeking a place of welcome and safety, hoping to survive.

        In and through Jesus, God is with us.

        God is especially with refugees.

        So, later this week, we’ll take down the Christmas wreaths and flowers.

        We’ll remove the lights from the Christmas tree out in the circle.

        Next week, the church may look a little bare.

        This can be a real let-down, a depressing time of year, even without the many troubles of the world.

        But I hope we can hold onto our memories of a really wonderful St. Thomas’ Christmas: the flowers, the music, the children, the crowds.

        More important than that, though, I hope that we can remain encouraged and inspired by this great and most unsentimental truth:

        In and through Jesus, God is with us.

        God is especially with people struggling to care for their families.

        God is especially with victims of violence, especially with victims of state-sponsored violence.

        God is especially with refugees.

        In and through Jesus, God is with us, all of us, right here, in our messed-up world.

        This is the unsentimental Christmas story, the story that should give us hope and courage.

        Amen.

God's Subtle Light

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 28, 2025

The First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Psalm 147:13-21

Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

John 1:1-18

God’s Subtle Light

Some of you know that Sue and I have three cats.

There’s Ria and Diego, who are 16 and 15 years old, pretty old for cats.

And there’s Simone, who’s a relative whippersnapper at about 4 years old.

And one thing we’ve discovered is that cats, both old and young, just can’t resist the little pinpoint of light created by a laser pointer!

If you have cats, have you tried it out?

I think dogs like it, too.

Well anyway, our cats go nuts, chasing that little dot of light, sliding across the floor, twitching with excitement just before they pounce, dizzying themselves when we spin the light in an ever-tighter circle.

Watching our cats run after that moving little light is certainly very entertaining for us, but I do wonder what it’s like for the cats.

First of all, the cats know that Sue and I control the light. When they hear the little click of the device – a sound that they realize comes from our hand – they know the light is about to appear.

In some kind of cat way, they know that we are manipulating them, but they just can’t help themselves.

And on some level the cats know that this light isn’t real the way, say, a mouse is real. I’m pretty sure the cats realize that they won’t be able to “catch” the light, but they just can’t resist, so they chase, and they pounce, and they spin.

It’s fun while it lasts but ultimately not very satisfying.

It’s easy for us to feel superior to the cats but I wonder if we’re not so different.

There are so many flashing lights all around us, manipulating us, drawing our attention. 

      Big business has gotten very good at distracting us, bombarding us with ads everywhere we look.

      The 24-hour news cycle is relentless.

      Some politicians and so-called influencers can’t seem to go more than an hour or two without a social media post or statement, hungry for our attention at all times.

      Our phones are constantly buzzing and pinging with the latest news, or alerting us about all the amazing “after-Christmas” sales.

      There are so many flashing lights all around us – the flashing lights of materialism and nonsense and fear and hate – so many flashing lights, it’s like Times Square or the Vegas Strip everywhere, all the time.

      And, yes, some of it is fun – at least for a while - but ultimately these lights are not very satisfying, and sometimes they are very destructive.

      Out in the world it’s already “after-Christmas,” with merchandise priced to sell, but here in church it’s still Christmas and it will go right on being Christmas until January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.

      And today, on the First Sunday after Christmas, we always read the Prologue to the Gospel of John.

      I always think of the Prologue as John’s “cosmic Christmas.”

      John doesn’t give us any stories about Mary and Joseph making a trip to Bethlehem, nothing about the inn with no vacancy, nothing about the shepherds or the angels, nothing about the newborn Son of God placed in a manger, a pretty word for a feeding trough meant for animals, the newborn Jesus already food for the world.

      Instead, John takes us all the way back to… the beginning.

      Using beautifully mysterious and poetic language, John declares that, in and through Jesus, God’s Word, God’s Light, has now entered our very shadowy world.

      And John insists, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

      And throughout his gospel, John will continue to develop that theme of light and darkness – it’s a theme that speaks to every time and place – and there’s certainly plenty of shadow in our own time.

      But I think the flashing lights of our time – the many distractions of today – are especially challenging because God’s Light is different than all those other lights. 

God’s Light is subtle.

      It’s rare that God’s Light is so bright that it knocks us off our horse, like what happened to St. Paul on the road to Damascus.

      No, God’s Light is subtle, requiring our attention.

      But at the same time, God’s Light is way more powerful than all the other lights that we chase, the lights that can never really satisfy.

      In addition to today being the First Sunday after Christmas, it’s also the last Sunday of the year. And so, I thought I’d share with you just a few ways that I’ve recently seen God’s subtle Light shining.

      In the run up to Christmas, several parishioners asked me how I was holding up, they offered sympathy, recognizing that this is a busy and demanding time.

      And it’s true, that for clergy Christmas is a busier time but, honestly, I felt like I just sailed right through it. And that was thanks to so many of you who gave so much time and talent to make Christmas happen. And my smooth sailing was thanks to our dedicated and hard-working staff. They are such a great team.

      And this year, Christmas was especially breezy for me because of our wonderful Assistant Rector. Sharing this work with Rev. Amelia has been a joy, a privilege, and a lot of fun, too.

      And Rachel Waller’s leadership of the Junior Choir has been such a gift. What a joy to see and hear our children the 4:00 Christmas Eve service, singing our final prelude and then acting out the Christmas story.

      God’s subtle light.

      A week ago, on Saturday afternoon, our Afghan neighbor Kamal called me to say that he and his daughters were outside the rectory door.

      When I opened the door, sure enough, there they were. Kamal smiling broadly and the girls behind him, looking kind of shy. They had brought over for us an Afghan treat, a kind of pastry, that is served on the Winter Solstice. 

      I wonder if they think we have a lot of people living in the rectory because it was a really big plate of treats, way more than Sue and I would be able to eat, so I brought them over for Sunday fellowship.

      But I keep thinking about Kamal and his daughters standing at our door, having been through so much and yet offering such warm kindness and delicious generosity.

      God’s subtle light.

      And, finally, there was Nadine.

      Nadine first called here a couple of years ago, when her husband died. It turns out that they had been married here long ago and she wanted the Rector of St. Thomas’ to officiate at his funeral.

      Unfortunately, I had another commitment, but I arranged for another priest to lead the service in my place.

      Over the next couple of years, we had a little phone contact with Nadine. She clearly needed help and Jane Farnan our Parish Administrator tried her best to connect Nadine to social services.

      Anyway, in the fall I received a call from a hospital social worker telling me that Nadine was dying and that she wanted me to serve as her medical power of attorney.

      I was startled and uncertain. 

      And I was sad. Was there really no one else?

      I was also humbled. Nadine and I had never met in person, but she trusted me not because of me but because of the position I hold, a reminder of the sacred trust I’ve been given.

      And so began a very intense couple of months, as Nadine’s life drew to a close.

      As I got to know her, I discovered that she really was alone – the most alone person I’ve ever met.

      Yet, in the hospital and later in the hospice, a little community formed around this somewhat cantankerous woman. 

      Of course, I go to hospitals all the time, so I know that usually the staff does its best but they’re often shorthanded and pressed for time and patients don’t always get the attention that they need and deserve.

      Ideally, family and friends fill that gap, right?

      But in Nadine’s case, there was no one. So, the staff – the social worker, the nurses, the dietary aides, you name it – they all stepped up, giving her extra TLC. She was picky about food, so they even went out and bought the things that she liked.

      There was also a woman who initially was interested in buying Nadine’s house. I was wary when she showed up, but very quickly she came to care for Nadine, too. She bought her sweet pastries that this little bird-like woman ate with gusto. She and her partner brought a grandfather clock from Nadine’s house, the only object she asked to have with her in hospice. And she stuck with Nadine even after she was no longer capable of making decisions about her house or anything else.

      And in the end, on a cold and windy day, it was just the two of us and the funeral director at Nadine’s graveside service, bringing her to rest beside her husband.

      God’s subtle light.

      We live in a time of so much distraction.

      So many lights that draw our attention, so many lights that never really satisfy.

      But on Christmas, we’re reminded that in and through Jesus, God’s Light has entered the world – a Light as subtle as a child born to a couple of nobodies and placed in a manger – God’s subtle Light that can never be overcome, never, no matter what.

      Amen.

God Goes "All In"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2025

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

God Goes "All In"

Merry Christmas!

As most of you know, every year the church conducts a stewardship campaign, or sometimes we call it a stewardship season.

Every fall, we try to reflect a little more deeply on the many blessings we have received from God, and we think about how we should and can respond to those blessings by giving of ourselves more generously, by sharing our time, talent, and treasure, by being generous with the church and with others.

Every year, it’s customary to come up with a theme for the stewardship campaign. Ideally, it’s something catchy and memorable.

One of my favorites was “An Attitude of Gratitude.”

You just can’t go wrong with a rhyme.

But my most favorite was a theme we used one year at my previous church in Jersey City: 

      “All In.”

“All In” 

Now, “All In” had a double meaning.

First, we hoped that all our parishioners would fill out and submit their pledge cards.

But on a deeper and more meaningful level, “All In” was about commitment, calling all of us to be fully committed to Jesus, to be fully committed to our church, to be fully committed to love and mercy.

“All In.”

I don’t remember exactly how successful our stewardship campaign was that year, I think we did OK, but I do remember one particular parishioner who took our theme to heart.

I’ll call him Anthony.

He was a challenging guy. He had some mental health challenges, with wide mood swings, which often made him very difficult to deal with.

You always knew when he was in church.

Anthony was essentially homeless. He would tell me that he was “living off the land.” 

Some of us were able to help Anthony, at least a little, but it was tough.

Anyway, for whatever reason, “All In” really captured his imagination.

Often when I’d see him around in the neighborhood, he’d yell out, “Father Tom, I’m all in!”

And believe it or not, Anthony was a pledging member of our church.

And that year, he wrote on his pledge card that his ministry was to “Seek the lost.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

He was always trying to convince people he encountered on the street to come to our church, and a few times he managed to get them there, people who were often in worse shape than he was – living on the streets, addicted, overwhelmed by life, bewildered to somehow find themselves in an Episcopal church on a Sunday morning.

Of course, Anthony’s ministry of seeking the lost made many of us church people, very much including me, uncomfortable and on edge.

      The good order of our service was sometimes disrupted when one of Anthony’s lost sheep would start wandering around.

And yet, although he was pretty messed up himself, or maybe because he was messed up himself, Anthony felt the urgency to share Something Good – to share the One who is Good – with those who were lost.

Anthony went “all in” – and, by his example, he challenged us to do the same.

On the first Christmas, God went “all in” with us, and for us.

The God who creates all that is – the God who is pure love and mercy – the God who transcends time and space – this God comes among us in a new and unique way, limiting God’s Self in a particular human being, born to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances.

In and through Jesus, God goes “all in” with us and for us.

God submits to the limitations of humanity, the limitations of infancy, unable to walk or speak or feed himself or clean himself, totally dependent on the care of Mary and Joseph, who, let’s face it, just barely manage to pull it off.

In and through Jesus, God goes “all in” with us and for us – all the way to the cross and the empty tomb.

Take that in for a moment.

All in. For us.

So, if we ever think that we don’t matter, that our life has little or no value, or that our mistakes are just too bad to be forgiven, remember that God goes “all in” for us.

And if we ever think that other people don’t matter, that their lives have little or no value, or that their mistakes are just too bad to be forgiven, remember that God goes “all in” for them, too.

Two thousand years ago, almost no one knew about the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem – just a no doubt exhausted Mary and a stunned Joseph, and maybe the innkeeper who sent them away.

And, of course, the shepherds, who encountered the angels singing their song of glory - they knew, too.

But that’s about it.

And yet, this obscure birth, both unique and ordinary, this birth changes everything.

In and through Jesus, God goes “all in” with us and for us.

And how should we respond to this greatest of all blessings?

Well, with an attitude of gratitude, of course!

This Christmas and always, let’s go “all in.”

Like Anthony, let’s seek the lost – and there are a lot of them – some have no homes and some have very nice houses.

      With God’s help, let’s live lives of love and mercy, reminding everybody, including ourselves, that we are all loved – that we all matter - because God goes “all in” with us and for us.

Amen.