God is “Unreasonably” Generous

God is “Unreasonably” Generous

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 20, 2026

Year A, Proper 20: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jonah 3:10-4:11

Psalm 145:1-8

Philippians 1:21-30

Matthew 20:1-16

Well, fortunately, we had a "somewhat" less intense week here at St. Thomas’.

Yesterday afternoon, we celebrated the third and final of our September weddings. Gordie Schroeder and Maggie Winkler exchanged some big promises, pledging to give one another joy, vowing to be there for each other in times prosperity and adversity, always, no matter what.

It was a particularly sweet wedding – Gordie was so excited, so joyful, that he broke with tradition and kissed his bride right at the start of the service, rather than waiting for my invitation at the end!

And, you know, why not?

And, last week, as most of you know, I announced my long-planned sabbatical – a time of rest and renewal that, believe me, I recognize is quite a gift and privilege – I know it’s not something that most people get to experience. 

I’m very grateful – and I’ll have more to say about that next week.

But, of course, much of the week was spent absorbing the death of Jim Wolgamott.

I’ve sat with my own grief – Jim was both a parishioner and also a good friend.

And I’ve talked with some of you as you have reflected on Jim’s beautiful life of love and generosity.

And, no surprise, during this past week many of you have surrounded John with so much love and support.

I’ve also been especially touched by the grief in our Afghan community.

Jim gave countless hours to helping our Afghan friends – driving them to appointments, helping them navigate American bureaucracy, sharing his wisdom, giving driving lessons, celebrating joyful events, and consoling them in times of fear and disappointment.

This work meant the world to Jim – he couldn’t talk about our Afghan friends without tearing up.

And now these people who have endured so much upheaval, so much suffering and loss, but have somehow remained so grateful, kind, and generous – in fact, one family has provided delicious food for today’s fellowship – these people who could have grown understandably callous and coldhearted – they are deeply mourning Jim – and they’ve been sharing the most beautiful tributes.

Here’s just one example:

“This world has lost a truly humble, caring, kind, and beautiful human being. Jim, the love you shared with everyone will never be forgotten. We will continue to follow your path and carry your legacy in our hearts. Rest in peace, Jim. Love you always.”

So beautiful, right?

How generous of God to dream up Jim and share him with us for a time.

How generous God is to us.

And how generous God is to others – how generous God is to others, including people we might think do not deserve God’s generosity – you know, the people who do bad things, the people perceived to be our enemies, the people who sure seem to be getting way more than they deserve.

You know, those people.

Which brings us to today’s Bible lessons.

Today we heard two of my favorite Bible passages: the first is the end of the Book of Jonah.

In case you’ve forgotten the Jonah story – in case all you remember is the whale (or, actually, the “big fish”), here’s a quick recap:

God had called Jonah to preach repentance to the people of the city of Nineveh, the capital of the Assyrian Empire – and, God says, if the people of Nineveh don’t change their ways, God would destroy the city.

But the Assyrian Empire was an enemy of the people of Israel and, frankly, Jonah doesn’t want to go there, and he certainly doesn’t want to convince them to repent.

Jonah has no problem at all with God wiping out the people of Nineveh. 

Please, Lord, go right ahead - let them die!

So, to avoid God’s call to Nineveh, Jonah gets himself on a boat heading in the opposite direction.

But God is nothing if not persistent, so God kicks up a fierce storm, and long story made short, Jonah gets thrown overboard and, in the most famous part of the story, Jonah is swallowed by a big fish.

Now, I’m pretty sure that three days and nights in the belly of a big fish will get you rethinking your life choices - and so, no surprise, Jonah prays for salvation, which our generous God gives him.

Given a second chance, Jonah now goes to Nineveh and reluctantly calls the people of the great city to repent before it’s too late.

And sure enough, everyone from the king on down puts on sackcloth and ashes – they repent – and God spares the city.

But Jonah, he is none too pleased.

Jonah is not pleased, but he’s not surprised. 

Jonah knows that God is gracious, merciful, loving – he knew that God is “unreasonably” generous – generous enough to release him from the belly of the big fish, generous enough to spare our enemy, generous towards the people we like the least, even the people we hate.

And it’s interesting that the end of the Book of Jonah is not neat and tidy.

God asks Jonah a rhetorical question, “Should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city?”

And that’s the end. 

We never hear Jonah’s answer – though maybe we can imagine it.

And maybe we can imagine our answer, too.

What do we do with God’s “unreasonable” generosity towards people we don’t like or trust, the people who’ve done wrong, who’ve gotten away with something, the people we think don’t deserve God’s generosity?

I love today’s parable – often called the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard, but maybe it should be called the Parable of the Generous Landowner.

I love this parable because I am absolutely sure that our reaction is exactly the same as people 2000 years ago.

We sympathize with – we identify with - the workers who have been out in the vineyard all day – I mean, that’s some hard work – they’ve been out there under the sun, bent over the vines, and, wait for it, they get paid the same as workers who got hired in the middle of the afternoon or even those hired at the end of the day! 

Yes, OK, it’s true that the early morning workers are getting exactly what they were promised, but still, whether it’s the first century or the twenty-first, we cry out:

“Not fair!”

“Not fair!”

It’s not fair. 

But, God is not fair.

God is better than fair.

God is “unreasonably” generous – and sometimes we don’t like that at all!

We all know that we are living in a time of many troubles:

War, environmental catastrophes, rising prices.

A time of dividing and tearing down rather than uniting and building up.

There are troubles right here in our own community: illnesses, broken relationships, fear, regret, and, of course, grief. 

This past week, as I’ve talked with people about Jim’s death, some have said it’s not fair that we lost such a good man, not fair because there are so many not-good-at-all, not-loving-at-all, not-generous-at-all people who continue to walk the earth, doing so much damage.

I get it, of course.

And I confess that the same thought has crossed my mind.

And it is sorely tempting to be bitter like Jonah and resentful like the morning laborers.

That cry of “Not fair!” might even feel good - for a little while, anyway

But we know that bitterness, resentment, and anger will only harden our hearts. 

This is not the way.

Like our Afghan friends who have endured so much, the way for us is gratitude - gratitude that God is “unreasonably” generous.

Gratitude for young love like Gordie and Maggie’s, love that just can’t wait for a kiss.

Gratitude that we are part of this beautiful community where we hold one another close, especially in times of fear, pain, and grief.

Gratitude that God never abandons us in the belly of the beast.

Gratitude that God gave us Jim Wolgamott.

Gratitude that Jim’s life embodies the Way, points us to the Way:

The Way of love, forgiveness, generosity, and gratitude –– the Way of Jesus – the Way of our “unreasonably” generous God – the Way that always leads us to new life.

Amen.

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.