Pentecost Stories, Loud and Quiet

Pentecost Stories, Loud and Quiet

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 24, 2026

Year A: The Day of Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21

Psalm 104:25-35, 37

1 Corinthians 12:3b-13

John 20:19-23

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Over the last eight weeks – for the past 50 days – we have shouted out so many alleluias.

And today we’re still ringing out our alleluias because today we celebrate the great Feast of Pentecost:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

The Lord is risen. The Lord has ascended. And just as he promised, the Lord has not left us comfortless, has not left us orphaned.

Today, on the great Feast of Pentecost, we remember and celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit - the Spirit of God at work in the world – the Spirit of God at work in the Church, right here and now, right this very minute.

You may have noticed that today we heard two different Pentecost stories.

The first, from the Acts of the Apostles, is very public, dramatic, and loud.

We pick up with the disciples in yet another unsettling in-between time. Jesus has ascended into heaven. He promised that they would receive the Holy Spirit. But nothing has happened yet. So, the disciples are in Jerusalem, they’re sticking together and they’re praying, and they’re waiting. 

And on the fiftieth day, suddenly the Holy Spirit blows through the house, propelling the no-longer-frightened disciples out into the streets, out into a diverse world of many peoples and languages, proclaiming to absolutely everybody the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

You know, that all happened a long time ago, but, if we pay attention, loud Pentecost stories happen all the time.

For example, just a few weeks ago, some of us gathered at our cathedral for the confirmation service - that was a loud Pentecost story.

It was a joy to be there with our seven youth confirmands, the last class taught by our extraordinary teachers Paul Corbin and Greg VanGeison, and our two adult confirmands, and their families.

Now, I know that we all like when Confirmation happens here at our own church, when the bishop makes her visitation. And I get that, and I agree, it is really nice – it’s like a family celebration.

But, on the other hand, it’s also very meaningful to gather with our bishop at our cathedral with Episcopalians from many different churches.

And at this year’s service, there was a very diverse group of people, maybe not so diverse as the crowd in Jerusalem on the first Pentecost, but it was still beautiful to see.

Since there were many Spanish-speakers present, one of the Bible lessons was read in Spanish, and the preacher alternated between English and Spanish – which, I have to say, was pretty impressive.

As I sat in the pew listening to all of this and looking around at all of these people from different corners of our diocese, I thought that this was a bit like that first loud Pentecost story – all of us able to hear the Good News, the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And then in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we heard a second Pentecost story – a quiet Pentecost story.

In this story, it’s the evening of the first Easter.

The disciples are together, traumatized, frightened, confused by all that has happened in Jerusalem over the last few days – Jesus’ death on the cross, and the reports of an empty tomb.

Then, suddenly, the Risen Christ appears.

The Risen Christ is still himself – he still bears his crucifixion wounds – but he is transformed – locked doors are no obstacle for him.

Knowing that the disciples are frightened, the Risen Christ’s first words are, “Peace be with you.”

And then, the Pentecost story: the Risen Christ breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

This is a different kind of Pentecost story, isn’t it?

It’s much quieter, much more intimate, and personal.

This all happened a long ago, but, if we pay attention, quiet Pentecost stories happen all the time.

So, back to the Confirmation service.

The confirmands and their teachers, clergy, and families were called forward by church – so when it was our turn, all of us from St. Thomas’ were together, standing in front of Bishop Carrie who stood before the altar.

One by one, our confirmands each knelt before the bishop.

Some were nervous, some were very serious, and some seemed to play it cool.

And then, one by one, she asked each confirmand to state their name.

“Chidera. Annie. Bucky. Charlie. McLane. Elizabeth. Alice. Jackson. Annette.”

And then she asked each confirmand if they wish to be confirmed.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,…”

And then, one by one, the bishop placed her hands on each of their heads and prayed, “Strengthen, O Lord, your servant, with your Holy Spirit…”

Because I wanted to take pictures, I was standing in a spot off to the side that gave me a clear view as each of the confirmations took place – and, although this was all happening in public with lots of people watching – this was a quiet Pentecost story, as quiet as a person saying their name, as quiet as a person saying “yes” to God, as quiet as the bishop inviting the Holy Spirit to strengthen each one of them, each one of us.

Pentecost stories, loud and quiet.

Today, on the fiftieth and final day of the Easter Season, on the great Feast of Pentecost, we remember and celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit - the Spirit of God at work in the world – the Spirit of God at work in the Church, right here and now, right this very minute.

We heard two old Pentecost stories – loud and quiet.

If we pay attention, we’ll find that Pentecost stories happen all the time.

Sometimes these Pentecost stories are kind of loud, like a joyful bilingual Confirmation service.

But more often, these Pentecost stories are kind of quiet, whispering our name, whispering “yes.”

These Pentecost stories are a quiet as a held hand, a caring call.

As quiet as creating a quilt to share with someone sick and frightened.

As quiet as sitting beside a child trying to make sense of math.

As quiet as Michelle Schmidt teaching Sunday School week after week, unseen by almost everybody.

Yes, often, these Pentecost stories are quiet, like two good men, Paul and Greg, offering decades of service to our young people and asking nothing in return – faithfully and generously sharing the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Stick Together and Pray

Stick Together and Pray

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 17, 2026

Year A: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:6-14

Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36

1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11

John 17:1-11

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Yes, it is still Easter, but I’m very sorry to say that this most beautiful season of Alleluias is now drawing to a close.

This ending actually began on Thursday morning when, as we always do, a few of us gathered in the Old School Building for Morning Prayer.

But this was no ordinary Thursday. It was the fortieth day since Easter. And on the fortieth, we remember and celebrate Jesus’ ascension into heaven.

Our attendance is considerably better today, so I love that we get to hear the Ascension story in today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles.

The Risen Christ gathers with his disciples one more time and, as usual, the disciples are not quite getting it – they aren’t asking the right questions – they want to know the timeline – is this when Jesus will finally unveil his kingdom on earth?

The Risen Christ tells them – tells us – that we don’t get any inside information about God’s time – that’s God’s business, not ours.

This unknowing may be unsettling or frustrating, but again, just like last week, we hear Jesus promise to send the Holy Spirit – and the Spirit will transform the disciples from frightened people hiding behind closed doors into bold apostles, courageously going out into the world and proclaiming the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

But for the disciples, for now, the Holy Spirit is still just a promise.

For now, all they know is that the Risen Christ was taken from their sight.

And the poor disciples, who have been through so much, they are now in an in-between time.

And what do the disciples do during this in-between time?

Well, we’re told that they stuck together.

And they prayed.

They constantly devoted themselves to prayer.

And now here we are in our own in-between time.

We’re in a brief in-between time on the church calendar, between Ascension Day this past Thursday and the great feast of Pentecost which we will celebrate next Sunday.

We’re also in a much longer in-between time, stretching from Jesus’ resurrection and ascension until his return.

And really, our whole lives could be described as an in-between time – an in-between time as long as the distance between our birth to our death.

And what are we to do during our in-between time?

Well, I think what was true for the long-ago disciples is just as true for us today.

We stick together – week after week we gather here – we keep gathering even when church is in the Parish Hall – and we work together on so many good things – learning and serving and growing.

We stick together.

And we pray.

The gospels are clear that Jesus is a person of prayer.

Jesus prays with his disciples. And he teaches them how to pray.

And sometimes Jesus slipped away from his disciples, got away from the crowds, and journeying into the wilderness to pray alone.

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear Jesus praying – Jesus praying for his disciples – praying for us – that we will be protected and that we will be one.

And the truth is that Jesus never stops praying for us – that Jesus continues to pray beside us – giving us the strength and courage to face whatever comes our way.

In the in-between time, we stick together and we pray.

Yesterday afternoon, we had our annual Shoemaker event – and, as expected, John Frisch gave an excellent talk, filled with raw honesty and hard-earned wisdom.

As many of you know, I’ve been interested in Sam Shoemaker since even before the Holy Spirit nudged me here, to this church where he was baptized and grew up.

Whenever I read about Shoemaker’s life and ministry, I’m always impressed by – in awe of – his tireless energy.

He met and worked with so many people, started and led so many ministries – he was on the radio, wrote two dozen books.

He traveled widely, especially to college campuses and seminaries, encouraging young people to be bold in their faith.

Not to mention his most awesome legacy: providing much of the spiritual foundation for the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. How many millions of lives has he helped to save?

So, as I’ve said before, Sam Shoemaker makes me feel like a slacker!

But, as I’ve learned about him, I’ve realized that the deep source of his faith and his ministry was prayer.

All his activity was rooted in prayer.

He began each day with what he called “Quiet Time,” sacred moments set aside to read scripture, to pray, and to write.

Shoemaker also wrote a lot about prayer.

Here’s my favorite quote from him:

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

We live our lives in an in-between time.

It’s easy to forget that. 

You know how it is: often we’re just going through our routines, just getting through the day, just trying to checkout at Wegmans and go home.

But inevitably, there are times when we’re startled out of autopilot, times when we’re awakened from sleep-walking – maybe it’s an illness or an accident, maybe it’s a betrayal or a setback.

Maybe it’s the state of our country, or the terrible suffering in so many places around the world.

But if we’ve been praying all along, the situations we face may not be easily fixed, but we will have developed the resources to face whatever comes our way, to cope, to trust that Jesus is praying beside us and God will not let go of us, no matter what.

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

This beautiful season of Alleluias is now drawing to a close.

We are in an in-between time.

The time in-between the Ascension and Pentecost.

The time in-between Jesus’ ascension and his return.

The time in-between our birth and our death.

The time in-between the start of our capital campaign and its successful completion.

The time in-between what is and what will be.

And in this in-between time, like Jesus’ first disciples, we are meant to stick together, and we are meant to pray – pray to Jesus, pray with Jesus.

These prayers may not solve all our problems, but they will give us all that we need to face the future.

An unknown future, yes, but a future that we can face with confidence, because…

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

God is Known to Us

God is Known to Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 10, 2026

Year A: The Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 17:22-31

Psalm 66:7-18

1 Peter 3:13-22

John 14:15-21

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Why, yes, it is still Easter. How could you tell?

It’s still Easter – it’s the Sixth Sunday of Easter.

And in today’s gospel lesson we pick up right where we left off last week. Jesus is gathered with his friends at the Last Supper.

And as time grows short, Jesus reassures his friends that he’s not abandoning them – Jesus does not abandon us – we will not be orphaned because God will send us the Holy Spirit. 

So, yes, it’s still Easter, but today we begin to look ahead to the great feast of Pentecost which we will celebrate in two weeks.

Today we begin to turn our attention to the gift of the Holy Spirit.

So, I’ve been thinking more than usual about the Holy Spirit – how the Holy Spirit has guided my life, how the Spirit has nudged me in the right direction, leading me to people and places that I could have never imagined or discovered on my own.

I’ve been thinking about the Holy Spirit.

And I know this is a leap, so stay with me, but I’ve also been thinking back fifty years, back to America’s Bicentennial.

Maybe some of you saw the story in the New York Times about the historian Jesse Lemisch, who, in 1976, had the foresight to collect as much Bicentennial memorabilia as he could – not the official items, not, you know, things like the decorative plates sold by the Franklin Mint – not the fancy stuff, but the items that most people probably barely noticed and just threw away: straw wrappers, cookie boxes, toilet paper packaging, diaper bags, popcorn buckets, TV Guide covers, and lots and lots of other things – what the Times referred to as “schlock.”

Reading the article and looking at the pictures of all that stuff brought back my own memories of the Bicentennial.

In 1976, I was nine years old and I was a very dedicated stamp collector, and I remember adding each of the Bicentennial stamps to my collection, all those little images commemorating the battles and the heroes of that time. It was, by the way, a great way to learn a lot of history. 

On top that, as you may have heard, my family lived in Jersey City, which is just across the Hudson River from New York City, and I vividly remember all of us going to the waterfront to watch the parade of tall ships sail into the harbor.

All very cool.

Now, for a number of reasons, I don’t think there’s quite the same excitement about this year’s 250th anniversary, but there is always a lot of interest in the group of men usually referred to as the “Founding Fathers” – Washington, Franklin, Jefferson, Adams, and the rest.

They were complex and flawed people who did extraordinary things, and they’ve kept historians and biographers quite busy for a couple of centuries.

And you may remember from your US History classes that most of these men were officially Christian, but many of them could also be described as “Deists.”

They believed in God, they believed that God had created and ordered the universe – but they also believed that God had little or nothing to do with creation, little or nothing to do with us.

In this view, God is often described as a kind of clock-maker – God builds this most intricate mechanism, sets this vast universal clock in motion, and then that’s it.

And, of course, in this view, the clock never knows its maker.

The “founders” were also great admirers of the Ancient Greeks. They borrowed ancient Greek ideas about government, they copied their architecture, as we can plainly see in Washington DC and lots of other places.

So, presumably the “founders” would have loved to visit ancient Athens and probably they would have really appreciated an altar there dedicated “to an unknown God,” because that was their idea of God – distant and unknowable.

Well, as we heard in today’s first lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, St. Paul did visit Athens and when he saw an altar dedicated “to an unknown God,” he didn’t admire it but he saw it as a sign that these Greeks had an intuition that there was a God they did not know, not an idol of stone or metal, but a God who created and sustains everything. 

And Paul had the best news for these Greeks: this God wants to be known – this God finds ways to be known by us.

Now, with our little brains and small hearts, we can’t perfectly know the God who is the Source, the Ground, of everything. And yet,

God is known to us in creation itself.

God is known to us through God’s Law and the prophets.

And, most of all, God is known to us in and through Jesus.

Some of you may know that Thomas Jefferson took it upon himself to edit the New Testament. He cut out all the miracle stories, everything that might be described as supernatural, and in his cut-up bible, Jefferson presented Jesus as a great teacher of wisdom and ethics.

Now, no doubt, Jesus was a great teacher of wisdom and ethics, but if that’s all that he was, then the church would just be a historical association or a scholarly society getting together for weekly meetings to study this interesting man from the past, like we might gather to study Plato or Aristotle or even Jefferson himself.

But that’s not what the church is.

We know God, not just because of the historical figure Jesus of Nazareth, but because of the Risen Christ who is alive, here with us today.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And that living presence of Christ is the Holy Spirit – the Holy Spirit who we’ll celebrate in a big way two weeks from now, the Holy Spirit who is always present with us, especially when we gather together.

As is often the case, I felt the Holy Spirit present at our Wednesday service, especially during bible study.

Last week, we talked a lot about the Holy Spirit, and some parishioners shared beautiful and powerful stories of how they had experienced the Spirit in their lives.

Those are not my stories to tell – but maybe some time we’ll offer an opportunity for more of us to tell our Holy Spirit stories.

But, you know last Sunday I stood here for my birthday blessing – and, although this birthday is not a milestone birthday – it’s the birthday before a milestone birthday – it’s gotten me thinking about my story – how did I get from that stamp collecting boy in Jersey City to who and where I am now?

And, as I reflect on that journey, I can think of a few times when I’m sure the Holy Spirit was especially hard at work, nudging me, making God known to me.

One was when a teacher colleague invited me to come to her church “sometime.”

That’s a good story, but it’s a story that most of you have already heard!

But another time was about six years ago when Sue and I were thinking about where we might go next, looking for a different challenge, another adventure.

And when I came up with Baltimore, honestly, I was really thinking about Baltimore City (I’m not sure I even knew there was such a thing as Baltimore County!)

And when I made some inquiries, the Diocese of Maryland let me know there were at that time three churches looking for a rector – one in the west, one in the east, and one in a place called Owings Mills.

At first, I thought none of those seemed quite right for me, and since I was in no rush to go anywhere, I just sort of set aside Baltimore.

Maybe later.

But then, there was kind of like a spiritual soft tapping at the back of my head, a whisper telling me to look again, to reflect more carefully about this church called St. Thomas’ – and, well, after a while, I finally told Sue that I thought I should explore this opportunity and see where it might lead…

Today we begin to look ahead to Pentecost. 

We turn our attention to the Holy Spirit, the living presence of Christ, never abandoning us, always accompanying us, sustaining us, nudging us in the right direction.

God is not distant and unknown.

Thanks to the Holy Spirit, God is known to us.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Jesus the Open Gate

Jesus the Open Gate

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 26, 2026

Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:42-47

Psalm 23

John 10:1-10

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Why, yes, it is still Easter!

Today is the Fourth Sunday of Easter, and each year on this day we are invited to reflect on a particular image of Jesus: Jesus the Good Shepherd.

And it’s a beautiful and comforting image, isn’t it?

Jesus is the Good Shepherd who knows and calls each of us by name.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd, and his sheep – us – we know his voice.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd who protects us from the unnamed “thieves and bandits” – unnamed but they’re always out there, aren’t they, always looking to take what does not belong to them.

Now, if you’ve ever heard me preach on this Sunday, you may remember that I often express some discomfort – not with the image of the Good Shepherd – but with the image of us as sheep.

Part of this discomfort comes from my own arrogance – I’d like to think I’m smarter than a sheep – I don’t just follow without thinking for myself – I can make my own decisions, thank you very much.

And part of my discomfort comes from the fact that I’ve never met a real-life shepherd, and I’ve only encountered sheep at a petting zoo.

Well, nothing much has changed since last year – I still haven’t accepted Barritt Peterson’s invitation to go over to his place and observe the sheep who live next door – I still don’t know much about sheep.

But in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus introduces an additional image for himself.

Jesus says, “I am the gate.”

“I am the gate.”

And, you know, over the past year, I may not have learned anything about sheep, but, along with some of our other church leaders, I have learned something about gates.

As you may have heard, today is the kickoff celebration for our capital campaign.

And as you probably also already know, we’re hoping that our campaign will support several important ministries and projects, including creating an endowment for outreach and hiring someone to especially serve and nurture our youngest parishioners.

And, as you also know, in an act of faith in God and trust in your generosity, even before the start of the campaign, we have begun two important projects.

Our historic organ has been disassembled and removed to a workshop where it is being carefully cleaned, repaired, and enhanced, and the choir area is being rebuilt in a way that will make our already excellent choir sound even more amazing and allow us to offer more music programs.

And the other project that is already underway is properly memorializing the North Cemetery.

Over the past few years, we’ve learned a lot about our African-American burial ground and about the people buried there.

The culmination of this work will take place on Saturday, June 20, when Bishop Carrie will be here to consecrate the North Cemetery – officially acknowledging the holiness of that place.

But, thanks to the leadership of Frances Rockwell, we’ve already completed the new gate at the entrance to the North Cemetery – if you’re not sure what I’m talking about, there’s a picture of the gate on the cover of today’s bulletin. It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?

It’s brand-new but looks like it’s been here forever, in harmony with the other walls and gates that surround the churchyard – a perfect symbol of the holy remembering and re-membering that we’ve been doing these last few years.

And here’s the thing: the gate is always open.

The gate is always open.

When Jesus says, “I am the gate,” he means an open gate – an open gate that welcomes everyone – the weary and heavy-burdened, the lost, the frightened, the wounded, the confused, the doubtful, the messed-up – welcomes everyone - maybe even the “thieves and the bandits,” if they are willing to repent.

No one is beyond God’s love and forgiveness.

When Jesus says, “I am the gate,” he means an open gate – an open gate that invites us to follow the way – an open gate that leads us to new life.

Jesus is the open gate.

And, these last few days, as I’ve been thinking about our capital campaign, I’ve realized that everything we’re hoping to do – everything we’re hoping to do with the support of all of us – helps St. Thomas’ open our gates even wider.

Open gates to absolutely everyone.

Open gates to the people resting in the North Cemetery, no longer forgotten.

Open gates to the people who will come here for extraordinary music, who will be inspired and moved and comforted by the beauty and skill they hear and see all around them.

Open gates to kids and youth who are not only the future of the church but are a cherished and vital part of our present.

Open gates to the people out there, people we may never meet, people who may never be able to thank us, but who are blessed by our generosity and service.

Open gates to the natural world on our campus, the plants and creatures who make their home here.

And, then there’s the sewer line.

Maybe you think I can’t work that in, but, you know, nothing says “closed gate” more than a failed septic system – nothing says “closed gate” more than a bathroom that’s out of order.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd and Jesus is the gate.

Jesus is the open gate.

And as his sheep, trusting in his protection, guidance, and love, we can open wide our gates, welcoming absolutely everybody and heading through our open gates out into the world, announcing the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Our True Home

Our True Home

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 19, 2026

Year A: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

This is your not so subtle signal that, yes, it is still Easter.

Although the world has moved on to other matters, it is still Easter for us. And it is still Easter – it’s still the first Easter - for the two disciples in today’s gospel lesson.

We meet Cleopas and the other, unnamed, disciple, maybe Mrs. Cleopas, on the road from Jerusalem to their home village of Emmaus, about seven miles away.

It is still Easter – but these two disciples don’t yet know that it’s Easter, so this long walk back home is not joyful at all.

The two disciples are puzzling over everything that had happened over the last few days in Jerusalem – Jesus’ triumphant entry into the capital city – remember the crowds shouting “Hosanna!” and placing their cloaks and palms on the road as Jesus rode a donkey into town?

The two disciples are trying to make sense over how everything had gone so terribly wrong – how the shouts of “Hosanna!” were quickly twisted into cries for crucifixion.

Jesus did not resist the powers of religion and empire – he even forgave them - and he died a shamefully public death, seemingly abandoned by just about everybody, maybe even God.

But then there’s this: these strange and hard to believe reports from some of the women that the tomb was empty – and angels had appeared. 

Maybe, just maybe, the story wasn’t over.

But these two disciples didn’t stick around to find out what happens next.

Maybe they had simply had enough, thank you very much.

Maybe they need to get back home – maybe they just want to go home.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about home.

Some of you know that during Easter Week, Sue and I made a very quick trip to Jersey City, where we both grew up, and where we lived before we moved here almost five years ago.

We were only there for about 24 hours, enough time to have dinner with my parents and sister – everybody’s fine – and I squeezed in a walk around our old neighborhood, passing by the church where we became Episcopalians and where I later served as rector.

It’s always somewhat unsettling to be back – no place will ever be more familiar, but that place has changed in countless ways since we’ve been gone – the city has moved on just as we’ve moved on.

And that strange experience of home-not home, got me thinking back to a couple of decades ago when I was discerning a call to the priesthood, one of the things I did not really consider was that this life is kind of transient.

Over the course of our ministries, most of us serve at least a couple of different churches in different places – there are usually a couple of big moves into new communities, a sense of starting again, which always comes with some mix of challenge and excitement. 

Of course, it’s not just clergy.

While some of you have deep roots here, I know others have moved around quite a bit and some of us aren’t done moving, either.

So where is our true home?

What is our true home?

On the road to Emmaus, Cleopas and the other disciple encounter a “stranger” who seems blissfully unaware of all that has happened these last few days in Jerusalem.

But this “stranger” shares God’s Word in a way that sets their hearts on fire.

And, to their credit and great blessing, when they reach Emmaus, they invite this “stranger” into their home, to join them at the table, and it’s then, in the breaking of the bread, that Cleopas and the other disciple know – they know the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

The Risen Jesus vanishes from their sight and then the two disciples do something unexpected – it’s nighttime and they’ve just walked a long way, but these two disciples leave their home and walk the seven miles all the way back to Jerusalem to share the Good News with the others.

So where is our true home?

What is our true home?

As we celebrate Green Sunday today, we’re reminded that one answer is the earth.

The amazing images of our beautiful swirly blue-white planet sent back from Artemis II were a reminder that we are all residents of this space ship sailing through the stars – a reminder of how amazing we are – it was human beings who did this – and also a reminder of how small we are, a reminder of the pettiness of our squabbles, a reminder of how we are all in this together, all part of this web of life.

The plastic bag tossed from a car on St. Thomas Lane lands in a stream that will eventually carry it to the harbor and the Chesapeake and beyond.

The earth is our home, and we must care for it.

And, on an even deeper level, for us Christians, Jesus is our true home.

Jesus, who we meet in the stranger, in Scripture, in community, and in the breaking of the bread.

Jesus is our true home, calling us to leave the familiar comforts of Emmaus – to head out into the world sharing the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

God Our Companion

God Our Companion

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 5, 2026

Easter Day

Acts 10: 34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Colossians 3:1-4

John 20:1-18

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

In today’s gospel lesson, it’s early on the first Easter morning.

Although it’s so early in the morning that’s it’s still dark, Mary Magdalene visits Jesus’ tomb.

Just like Jesus’ other friends and followers, no doubt Mary Magdalene had been bewildered and traumatized by all that had happened in Jerusalem over the last few days.

First there was Jesus’ triumphant entry, greeted by the crowds shouting “Hosanna!” and spreading palms and their cloaks on the road – there was so much excitement and hope as the king entered his capital city.

But then everything seemed to go wrong – what Mary Magdalene and Peter and the others had hoped was going to be a glorious victory suddenly became what looked like a crushing and shameful defeat.

Jesus was betrayed by one of his own, arrested, tortured, mocked, and killed in a most public way – a stark warning from the “powers that be” to anyone else who might challenge the ways of the world – anyone else who might try to bring God’s kingdom to earth.

What a heartbreak.

Most of Jesus’ friends were keeping a low profile, understandably frightened that the authorities who had killed Jesus were coming for them next.

How frightened and lonely they all must have been!

But on the first Easter morning, Mary Magdalene somehow overcame her fears and visited the tomb. We’re not told why she’s there - maybe even she doesn’t exactly know why she’s there – maybe Mary just wants to be as close to Jesus as she can be - maybe this is all she can think of doing.

Well, you just heard what happened next.

Mary Magdalene discovers that the tomb is open – and traumatized Mary assumes the worst. Horror after horror.

Mary ran to get help from Peter and the other disciple but they’re no help at all.

And then there’s Mary Magdalene, alone, weeping, overwhelmed with grief.

But then something unexpected: angels asking why she’s weeping, which must have seemed like a pretty stupid, even cruel question.

And then, finally, someone else enters the scene – maybe it’s the gardener – and he asks the same question.

But then this gardener calls her by name, “Mary!”

And Mary, she knows that voice - and now Mary knows the most unexpected news - the Good News – Mary Magdalene knows the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

It’s not an accident that the Resurrection took place in a garden.

The garden is a reminder of where the story of God and us began.

And the garden is also where everything went wrong, where the first people did exactly what they were not supposed to do - so human! - and they discovered those most unpleasant feelings of shame and fear and loneliness.

And, worst of all, they tried to hide from God.

They didn’t answer when God called, “Where are you?”

During Holy Week, I thought a lot about that story and how it reveals God’s desire to be with us, to be our companion.

God’s great desire to accompany us.

And God’s most unexpected and most daring attempt to accompany us is Jesus.

In and through Jesus, God comes among us in a new, unprecedented, and eternal way – a way stronger than the “powers that be” – a way stronger than even death itself.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Early on that first dark Easter morning, Mary Magdalene was alone – alone with her grief and her fear.

And the truth is that in our own time there are lots of people who are alone – lots of people who feel lonely, even if, maybe especially if, they are surrounded by people. 

For many of us, the troubles of the world and the problems of our own lives weigh heavily and make us feel very alone – especially when it seems like everybody else is having a great time.

In fact, I’m sure there are people here right now feeling alone, even amid all this beauty and joy.

But on the first Easter, Mary Magdalene discovered that she was not alone – and that she would never truly be alone again.

God is once again as close to us as God was to the first people in the garden – closer, actually.

In and through Jesus, God is with us – God is our companion – God is accompanying us – God is right here with us celebrating our joys and mourning our sorrows.

In and through Jesus, God is with us – God is our companion - God is accompanying us, giving us strength, courage, and wisdom - and God will never let go of us, no matter what.

In the words of the priest and poet John Donne:

“Christ is at home with you, he is at home within you, and there is the nearest way to find him.”

Although it’s Easter, all the many troubles of our world and of our own lives remain, but we can face the future together, without fear, faithfully

Because…

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.