God Accompanies Us Even to the Grave

God Accompanies Us Even to the Grave

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 4, 2026

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

Today is the strangest, most in-between, day of the church year.

The Good Friday shouts of “Crucify him!” and Jesus’ words from the cross – “It is finished” - are still ringing in our ears.

But, at the same time, we are so close to Easter joy.

The Altar Guild and the Flower Guild are already at work, decorating the church for tomorrow morning’s glorious celebrations.

And lots of other people – the church staff, the choir – have been working so hard to make for us a meaningful and beautiful Easter.

At the same time, let’s just admit it, much of the world did not pay much attention to Maundy Thursday or Good Friday, and, beyond the baskets filled with eggs and candy, the world won’t pay much attention to Easter, either.

And Holy Saturday? Even the church is mostly ignoring our strange little gathering at the tomb this morning.

But it’s important for us to be here.

It’s important for us to be here to remember the familiar words of the Creed that probably roll off our tongues without much thought: Jesus “descended to the dead.” 

It’s important for us to be here to witness to the hard, cold truth that we would much rather skip right over: Jesus the Son of God was dead and buried.

So, as I mentioned in my sermon yesterday, this Holy Week, I’ve been thinking a lot about “accompaniment.”

I’ve been reflecting on God’s great desire to accompany us thorough our lives, celebrating the joys and giving us the courage and strength to face our challenges, to endure our losses.

Accompanying us has been God’s great desire right from the beginning.

Yesterday, I talked about the story from way back in the beginning, when Adam and Eve had done exactly what they were told not to do and they were hiding from God in shame and fear and loneliness – all new and unpleasant experiences for them. 

And God came through the garden, calling out to his creations:

“Where are you?”

From the start, God has wanted to be our companion.

And Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s great desire to accompany us – to accompany us even through rejection, suffering and apparent defeat, to accompany us even to the grave.

Over the centuries, Christians have been understandably curious about what, if anything, was going on during this strange and shadowy time when Jesus was dead.

Obviously, this knowledge is beyond us, but there is an ancient Christian idea called the “Harrowing of Hell.”

The idea is that not only did Jesus “descend to the dead,” but he liberated the people who had been held there since the very beginning.

I like to think that Judas was the first person liberated – that God would continue to accompany even the person guilty of the worst betrayal.

But most artists who have depicted the Harrowing of Hell have imagined that it was Adam and Eve who were first led by Jesus to freedom, no longer hiding from God in fear and shame, but answering God’s call to new life.

Accompanying us has been God’s great desire right from the beginning.

In and through Jesus, God accompanies us through life, to the grave, and finally, as we’ll celebrate in just a few hours, to new and everlasting life.

Amen.

God’s Desire to Accompany Us

God’s Desire to Accompany Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 3, 2026

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22

Hebrews 10:16-25

John 18:1-19:42

Over the last few Sundays in Lent, we heard stories of Jesus performing amazing signs – signs pointing to profound truths about God and us.

Jesus gave sight to the man born blind – a sign that it’s in and through Jesus that we are truly able to see – able to see who God really is, able to see who we really are.

Jesus raised from the dead his friend Lazarus – a sign of the new life that God offers all of us in and through Jesus.

And there’s the sign we didn’t hear this year, but I mentioned it in my sermon a couple of weeks ago: Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana – a sign of the overflowing abundance that God offers all of us in and through Jesus.

And now today, on this most solemn day of the Christian Year, we recall another sign – Jesus’ suffering death on the cross - a very different kind of sign, for sure – but a sign, nonetheless, a sign pointing to the most important truths about God and us.

This year, as I’ve been praying and thinking about Holy Week, I’ve returned to another painful and moving moment in the Bible.

The story goes that way back, at the very beginning, in the garden, God gave the first man and woman everything – beauty, peace, abundance, each other – and, most of all, God shared God’s presence, God’s companionship.

God was with Adam and Eve in the garden.

There was, of course, just one restriction: Adam and Eve were not to eat the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Well, we know the story – and, even if we don’t know the story, we all know human nature well enough to know exactly what was going to happen.

Eating that forbidden fruit opened the eyes of the first man and woman, and suddenly they became acquainted with shame and fear and loneliness, the new and self-destructive instinct to try to somehow hide from God.

And then there here’s the moment I’ve been thinking about:

We’re told that God comes through the garden looking for God’s creations, calling out to them – calling out: “Where are you?”

“Where are you?”

Such a sad and heartbreaking moment – a scene that reveals, right from the start, God’s great desire to be with us.

God’s desire to accompany us.

Fortunately, God never gives up on us – never stops loving us - never loses the 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 and unprecedented way.

God goes "all in" on human life.

 

God experiences our gifts and challenges: the helplessness of infancy, the learning of childhood, the love of parents, the joy of friendship, living in community with family, friends, and neighbors.

God also experiences fear, dread, frustration, loneliness.

In and through Jesus, God accompanies us through it all. 

In the gospels, Jesus gathers his band of followers – a group of flawed and endearing people, just like us.

Jesus accompanies the most unlikely people, the lepers, the tax collectors, the woman caught in adultery, the Samaritan woman at the well, the blind and the frightened and the grieving, the messed-up.

Jesus accompanies the rich and the poor, revealing to all of us who God really is and who we really are.

This most wonderful story of God accompanying us – this story seems to end in Jerusalem, seems to end with betrayal, cowardice, the frenzy of the crowd, the brutality of empire. 

This story of God accompanying us seems to end on the cross with Jesus’ great faithfulness and suffering.

God accompanies us close enough to know vulnerability, abandonment, and terror, close enough to experience even death.

And it’s only because we know that the cross is not the end of the story that we can dare to call today “Good.”

Unfortunately, for most of the past two thousand years, Good Friday has been anything but “good” for our Jewish neighbors.

For much of our history, during Holy Week and especially on Good Friday, Christians have blamed all Jewish people, both in the first century and in the present day, for the suffering and death of Jesus.

Christians have even sought to avenge Jesus’ death by terrorizing and killing Jews. 

It’s hard to imagine anything more wrongheaded – anything more contrary to Jesus’ life and teaching.

But all too often, Christians have forgotten, or chosen to forget, that Jesus and all his first followers were Jewish – that the gospels are Jewish documents – and that a story that may sound to us like “the Jews versus Jesus” was actually a conflict among the Jewish people.

So, in today’s service, we’ve taken some steps to address this tragic history, in our small way trying to break this cycle that has caused so much fear and bloodshed through the ages.

So, as you heard, in the Passion reading we’ve referred to the “Judeans” rather than the “Jews” – an acceptable alternative translation that puts some linguistic distance between the people of the first century and the people of today.

And in a few moments, we will pray for our Jewish elder siblings in faith, the people of the Covenant which God has never broken, will never break.

These changes are especially important in our troubled time when antisemitism is again on the rise.

And also, blaming a particular group of people for what happened to Jesus two thousand years prevents us from seeing what really happened.

Jesus was a victim of state-sponsored violence, a victim of religious and political leaders conspiring to get rid of someone whose calls for justice threatened their power – and these religious and political leaders had no trouble inciting the crowd to turn against the blameless teacher and healer from Nazareth, this different kind of king who rode into town on a donkey and would not defend himself.

And so, once again, people just like us, sinned, rejecting God’s desire to accompany us.

And they nailed the Son of God to a tree.

Back near the beginning, back in the garden, God called out to God’s disobedient and frightened creations:

“Where are you?”

Fortunately, God never gives up on us – never loses the desire to search for us, to accompany us.

And even when the worst thing happens.

Even when hate and violence and death seem to win.

Even when all hope seems to be lost.

God still does not give up on us – God still desires to accompany us.

Jesus’ death on the Cross is a sign – a most powerful sign - of God’s love for us.

Amen.

Signs of New Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 22, 2026

Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

Signs of New Life

Spring began on Friday morning at 10:46. And not a moment too soon!

      I think we can all agree that we had a long, hard winter.

There were seemingly endless stretches of bitterly cold weather.

More snow has fallen than in many years, including the storm we will not forget, when the snow quickly hardened into ice like concrete and stuck around for weeks.

Sunshine has been in short supply and great winds have blown through our valleys, bringing down trees and powerlines – in fact, the line that brings electricity into the rectory has been lying across the lawn for a couple of weeks.

And during our long hard winter there is again, still, war – once again there is war in the Middle East.

Once again, flag-draped coffins have been brought to Dover Air Force Base for the “dignified transfer” of our brave servicemen and women who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Once again, people in places like Tehran, Tel Aviv, and Beirut – people not so different from us – people who go to school and work and the store, people who want a better life for their children and grandchildren, people who may or may not support their government, people who want to enjoy a meal with their family and friends – people in these and other long-suffering places have to get through their days with the fear of destruction raining from the sky at any moment.

Once again, there is war – and, like with every war, we can never be certain of the outcome and the lasting consequences – the only sure things are destruction and suffering.

We had a long, hard winter.

Even here in church.

I’ve said to a few of you that, with the bad weather keeping a lot of people away on Sundays, it feels to me anyway like this year we never really got started on Lent – somehow, we never got spiritual traction.

Today’s collect describes our wills and affections as “unruly” – a great word – and with everything going on I’d say my heart and mind are unruly – unsettled – unsure of the right thing to say and do, not ready at all for Holy Week and Easter.

I could use another couple of weeks of Lent, I think.

      But today is the Fifth – and final - Sunday in Lent. In just one week, we’ll gather again to remember the “palm parade” that greeted King Jesus when he entered his capital city – and once again we’ll remember how the mood quickly shifted when religious leaders and political leaders worked together – supported by a fickle public – to get rid of this king, once and for all.

        Or so they thought.

        But, first today, we hear the story of Jesus’ greatest act: the raising of his friend Lazarus.

        The Evangelist John paints quite a scene for us. He gives us vivid details to make sure we know that Lazarus is really and truly dead. He wants us to know that the most faithful people – even Jesus’ close friends and disciples Mary and Martha – they are plunged into grief at the death of their brother. And while they have hope for the last day, they certainly don’t believe that anything good is going to happen at the grave, even when Jesus finally arrives.

        But Jesus does the most unexpected thing: and Lazarus is alive.

        The Gospel of John includes several amazing acts by Jesus.

        Just last week we heard the story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind.

        And there’s also the wonderful story of Jesus at the wedding in Cana where he turns water into wine, offering an overabundance of the most delicious wine ever.

        But the Gospel of John does not use the word “miracle” to describe these acts. Instead, John calls them “signs” – signs pointing to deeper truths about God and us.

        So, I would imagine that, back in the first century, there were other wedding hosts whose guests indulged more than they expected, hosts who were deeply embarrassed when the wine ran out – but, as far as we know, the wedding at Cana was the only time Jesus came to the rescue.

        Turning water into wine is a sign. A sign of God’s abundance.

        And, no doubt, there were a lot of blind people back in the first century who did not receive their sight from Jesus.

        But Jesus giving sight to the man we heard about last week is a sign – a sign that it’s Jesus who gives us true vision – it’s Jesus who allows us to see who we were always meant to be – it’s Jesus who allows us to see how we are meant to live in the world.

        And we can be sure that there were lots of people dying around Jesus all the time, but nearly all of them stayed dead.

        But, while Jesus raising Lazarus is really good news for Lazarus and for those who loved him, the truth is that this amazing act is a sign – a sign pointing to what God does all the time – transforming death into life.

        Signs of new life.   

        So, last Sunday, the weather was so-so. It was cool and cloudy in the morning, and then cloudier and windier, with some sprinkles, later in the day.

        You may remember that we had scheduled our Lenten walk for last Sunday afternoon, over at the Irvine Nature Center.

        I admit that I was pretty tired last Sunday afternoon – we had a meeting between the two morning services and then a very lengthy vestry meeting after the 10:00 service.

        I had just enough time to run home, grab a quick lunch of trail mix, change my shoes and head over to Irvine – there was no snoozing on the couch this Sunday!

        As I drove along Garrison Forest Road, looking up at the gray sky and wiping away a few droplets from my windshield, I wondered who scheduled this event (that would be me!) and I wondered if anyone else would show up.

        When I got to the gate, the woman in the booth said the buildings were closed because of a water problem – was this a sign to call it off and turn around? – but, she said the trails were open.

        Sure enough, Rev. Amelia and a few other parishioners pulled into the parking lot and a few minutes after 3:00, we began our walk.

        It was cool and windy and we felt a few raindrops.

        The landscape appeared barren – still beautiful but mostly just shades of gray and brown.

        But, as we made our way around, we noticed the tiniest buds of red and green just beginning to arise from what looked like dead branches.

        And on the ground, along trickling streams, the skunk cabbage is just beginning to unfurl.

        We had a long, hard winter, but there are signs of new life.

        And there are signs of new life here at St. Thomas’, too.

        Another semester of Owls First has begun, more children at Owings Mills Elementary School are being blessed by some of you who are volunteering your time, investing in the future of children not our own but who are our own.

        Next month, our confirmands will kneel before the bishop and say for themselves that they wish to follow Jesus.

        And starting in about two weeks, our organ will be disassembled and removed for a complete overhaul – which sounds like “just” an infrastructure project but it’s really an investment in our future – a sign of – a belief in - new life.

        And next week, we’ll begin the journey to the Cross – to the worst time and place, when all hope was lost. 

        Or so it seemed.

        Yes, it was a long, hard winter – and, no doubt, there are more challenges ahead: 

        Sometimes it will seem like there’s just not enough.

        Sometimes our vision will blur, and it will be hard to see the way ahead.

        And sometimes death will seem to have the last word.

        But, when we pay attention, we discover God is at work.

        And all around us, there are signs of new life.

        Amen.

Shimmering Gifts

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 4, 2025

The Funeral of Katharine “Kitty” Washburne

Micah 4:3

Psalm 23

1 John 4:7-21

Luke 10:25-37

Shimmering Gifts

Over the past couple of weeks, it has been very moving to talk with many St. Thomas’ parishioners whose lives were touched by Kitty in myriad ways: friend, teacher, inspiration, role model.

And it is very moving to see so many of you here this morning, gathering to support Kitty’s beloved family, to console one another, and to give thanks to God for this extraordinary person.

I am not at all surprised by the outpouring of grief and love – I’m not surprised, in part, because one day last summer, Kitty and I took a little road trip.

I picked up Kitty at her house, and we drove over to Blakehurst to visit her dear friend and former teaching colleague, Cynthia Murray.

I will always be grateful for that trip to and from Blakehurst. Over those 50 minutes or so, we talked about all sorts of subjects, covered a lot of ground – but that’s what most conversations with Kitty were like, right?

So, anyway, we arrived at Blakehurst and went to Cynthia’s apartment, but she wasn’t there. 

One of the aides told us that she was out of the building but would be back “later.”

So, what to do?

Well, since we were already at Blakehurst, we decided to try to see one of the other many people that Kitty knew there: Mary Ann Cover.

And we ended up having a very nice visit with Mary Ann and, eventually, Cynthia, which I’ll come back to in a minute.

      But there are a couple of other things I will always remember from that afternoon:

      Kitty and I were making our way all over Blakehurst, which was under construction then, and we got detoured and turned around a couple of times. And I’m sure many of you know those long hallways at Blakehurst. Well, after a while it started feeling a little like a march and I got worried about Kitty. So, at one point I turned to her, walking beside me at a good clip, holding her cane but really just as an accessory, I turned to her and asked if she was doing OK.

      Well, as I remember it, she said she was just fine and she gave me a look of, “Why would you even ask me that?”

      Her energy. To the end, her energy was just extraordinary.

      But here’s the most important thing: as we were making our way around Blakehurst, we kept running into people who knew Kitty – people who not only knew her but were overjoyed to see her.

Again and again, eyes and mouths would open wide and people would cry, “Kitty Washburne!”

It was like accompanying a celebrity as she was meeting her fans.

I’ve thought a lot about that memorable afternoon at Blakehurst and reflected on why people were so happy to see her. Part of it was simply surprise and shared history, I know, but it was much more than that, too.

For today’s gospel lesson, we heard one of Jesus’ best-known parables: the Good Samaritan.

There’s a lot going on in this parable – this story that illustrates what it means to be a neighbor.

The two official religious people in the story, the priest and the Levite, they are not good neighbors. They see the injured man by the side of the road, but maybe because they were frightened that there might still be bandits in the area, waiting to get them next – or maybe because they suspected that the injured man was a decoy luring them into a trap – or maybe – and this is what I think - maybe because they just didn’t want to get involved, couldn’t be bothered, they had places to be – for whatever reason, the priest and the Levite pass by on the other side and go on their way.

But the Samaritan stops and helps, and really goes above and beyond, doesn’t he?

And here’s the thing: the Samaritan didn’t see the injured man as a problem or a danger or an obstacle or an irritant – he saw the injured man as a human being – an individual person who needed help. 

      So, the merciful Samaritan helped him.

      That’s God’s way.

And that was Kitty’s way, too.

Several times over the last few years, she called me up about someone she knew who needed help – and I mean someone she really knew – she had taken the time to get to know their story, to really know them and care about them and wanted to find a way to help them however she could.

Maybe some of you experienced her mercy.

It was Kitty’s genuine care for others that made her not only a wonderful mother and grandmother but also an incredibly devoted friend – she maintained so many friendships over all the years and was still open to, still curious about new people, even me, the last in her long line of ministers.

It was Kitty’s genuine care that sparked the response I witnessed at Blakehurst that day.

And, I have to say, Kitty was also formidable.

In one of our last conversations, she described herself as “ornery.”

Her word, not mine!

Well, she certainly had very high standards for herself and others, high standards, of conduct, honesty, justice, integrity.

So, back to that day at Blakehurst. We did finally visit with Cynthia Murray.

And during our conversation, Cynthia mentioned that Kitty had been a wonderful boss at Bryn Mawr. Kitty trusted Cynthia so much as a teacher and as a person that she never asked Cynthia for lesson plans or anything like that, simply trusting her to be the excellent kindergarten teacher that she was.

Many decades later, Kitty’s respect and trust still meant so much to Cynthia. 

      And how could it not?

Some of you know that not too long ago, Kitty wrote and published a childhood memoir called Gifts Shimmering in the Ripples.

In her book, Kitty shares stories of adventures with her uncle Ragie, adventures not in some far-off land but just down the road at Green Spring.

Ragie led her and the other children on expeditions to discover different kinds of plants and fish, right there around her home, and to learn some important life lessons.

And although Kitty lived most of her life right there, right here, she never lost that spirit of unquenchable curiosity, that spirit of adventure, the ability to uncover wonder right outside her door, to discover marvelous gifts in all sorts of people.

Right now, on the church calendar, we are in Lent – a solemn time of reflection, sacrifice, and repentance, a season that began two weeks ago today on Ash Wednesday.

And I find it particularly meaningful that Kitty died on Ash Wednesday night.

No more Lent for Kitty.

For Kitty, it is already Easter.

It is Easter forever.

Kitty has returned to the God who is Love.

      And the “Alleluias” are ringing out, and across the fields the daffodils are blooming, and the fragrance of lavender is in the air.

And Kitty has been reunited with Tom, and Ragie, and so many others who have gone before.

And new adventures, new unimaginable wonders, await.

For us, it’s still very much Lent.

But Kitty has given us her love and her example.

      Kitty has left us with so many shimmering gifts – gifts that will continue to bless us and guide us.

Amen.

Works in Progress

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 1, 2026

Year A: The Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a

Psalm 121

Romans 4:1-5, 13-17

John 3:1-17

Works in Progress

So, I don’t know when this thought first occurred to me, but at some point, during my youth, I realized that none of us have ever been as old as we are now.

Seems obvious, I know, but as a kid, on some level I just thought that my parents and grandparents had always sort of been the age they were at that time.

That’s all that I had ever known, ever seen.

And I also just assumed that my parents had it all figured out: of course, they knew how to be, I don’t know, thirty-ish and raising two young children.

And I guess I assumed that my grandparents had it all figured out too: of course, they knew how to be older, how to deal with retirement, aging, medical challenges, and all the rest of it.

I don’t know when it dawned on me that, no, my parents and grandparents had never before been the age they were right then – that, just like I was figuring out how to be a boy, a teenager, they were figuring it out, too.

I realized that we are all – no matter our age and experience, all of us, whether we admit or not – we are all works in progress. 

We are all works in progress.

I think we realize this – or maybe just admit this – when we live in “interesting times,” when we face a crisis, when we’re presented with a new situation and we’re not sure how to proceed.

I often think back to the pandemic, when we all had to scramble to figure out how to keep going when so much that we had taken for granted was suddenly paused or gone.

We had never been down that particular road before. 

It’s funny what you remember.

I’m not sure about here, but back in Jersey City, we had to line up outside the supermarket because only a certain number of people could be inside at any time. And when we got inside, I remember how challenging it was to open those plastic produce bags while wearing plastic gloves – never had to do that before.

In times of crisis, many people turn to the church, but in that time, the church had to figure out how to go forward.

      “Being nimble,” “pivoting,” those were the words of the day.

And in just a couple of days, we all learned online worship.

In Jersey City, during weekdays we offered “Church by Phone,” three conference call services every weekday, morning, noon, and evening. I don’t think I had ever hosted a conference call, but it turned out to be a simple and beautiful way to keep people connected.

The pandemic was a time of figuring it out, not always knowing what we were doing, making lots of mistakes, admitting that we were works in progress.

And the same is true during today’s “interesting times.”

When I was a high school history teacher, I used to remind my students that, while we know how historical events turned out, the people who were living through them did not know what would happen next.

We are living through challenging, confusing, unsettling times – and we’ve just added war with Iran to our long list of worries and uncertainties. 

We’re living in “interesting times.” We’re all trying our best to figure it out. We have no idea what happens next.

      We’re all a work in progress.

      In today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we meet one of my favorite Bible characters: Nicodemus.

      Nicodemus is a religious person, a Pharisee.

      He’s educated and respected.

      He’s achieved a position of authority and responsibility.

      But, Nicodemus, he is very much a work in progress.

      He comes to see Jesus at night, which is a significant detail. He’s trying to keep this secret. Nicodemus probably doesn’t want his colleagues and friends to know that he is visiting the powerful and puzzling teacher and healer from Nazareth, this Jesus who is making the powers that be very uncomfortable.

      Nicodemus is a work in progress. He calls Jesus “rabbi,” - teacher. And that’s true enough, but that title only begins to describe who Jesus is.

      Nicodemus is a work in progress. He recognizes that Jesus has come from God because he has seen or heard about the signs that Jesus has been performing.

      Now, if you were following the conversation, it seems like Nicodemus was sort of stalling, kind of clearing his throat, working his way up to asking Jesus whatever it is that’s on his mind, whatever it is he wants to ask or say.

      But Jesus cuts to the chase. He tells Nicodemus, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born from above,” which is another way of saying, “born anew” or “born again.”

      And then we have this apparent misunderstanding, this funny exchange about what it means to born anew. When Nicodemus asks if Jesus means we somehow have to return to our mother’s womb and start over, it could be that this highly educated man doesn’t really get it.

      Or more likely, Nicodemus understands only too well that new birth is going to cost him. Being born anew is likely to cost Nicodemus his friends and his position and his prestige – and he is just not ready to take that step.

      And then, if you were following along carefully, you may have noticed that Nicodemus seems to just quietly vanish from the scene.

      A work in progress.

      And we continue with some familiar and most important words.

      There’s the famous verse, John 3:16 -

      “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.”

      And the somewhat less known but just as important, John 3:17 -

      “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

      God knows us better than we know ourselves.

      God knows that we have never quite been here and now before.

      God knows that we are works in progress.

      And, especially during this holy season of Lent, God encourages us to admit our mistakes and uncertainty and keep going, trusting that God will not let go of us.

      God gives us Jesus and invites us to new life, to start anew.

      So, about Nicodemus.

      After his nighttime visit with Jesus, Nicodemus makes two other brief appearances in the gospel.

      In the first, the chief priests and the Pharisees are trying to convince the police to arrest Jesus, which they are reluctant to do. Nicodemus is there among the other leaders and he speaks up for Jesus, saying that they should give Jesus a chance to speak for himself.

      That doesn’t sound like a radical suggestion, but the other leaders reject it and, maybe, grow a little suspicious of Nicodemus.

      And then, finally, at the end – or at what seemed like the end – after Jesus’ death on the cross, Joseph of Arimathea received permission to take away and bury Jesus’ body.

      And Nicodemus was with Joseph. He brought an abundance of myrrh and aloes – about 75 pounds – and together they prepared Jesus’ body and placed him in the tomb.

      And that’s the last we hear of Nicodemus.

      We don’t know what happened to him next.

      Just like we don’t know what will happen next for us.

      Nicodemus and you and me, no matter our age, no matter our “interesting times,” we are all works in progress.

      Loved by God.

      Amen.

Being and Doing

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 22, 2026

Year A: The First Sunday in Lent

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

Psalm 32

Romans 5:12-19

Matthew 4:1-11

Being and Doing

One of the many problems and challenges of today is the relentless news cycle.

There is so much information, so much opinion and outrage, coming at us all the time that it’s hard for us to absorb it, and it’s nearly impossible for us to slow down and reflect on what’s happening.

There’s just not much time for any of that because, in a minute, some new scandal or worry will arise, and round and round we go.

This relentless news cycle keeps many of us distracted and feeling anxious and overwhelmed, very destructive for our health, for our souls.

But occasionally, something breaks through the noise, something breaks through the chaos. Something or someone gets our attention and, if we’re fortunate, reminds us of our essential goodness, reminds us that it’s possible for us to live lives of peace, harmony, courage, integrity, and love.

Like many of you, I’m sure, I’ve been thinking a lot about Kitty Washburne.

I’m so glad that I had the chance to know her during the last years of her long life – a life devoted to family, friends, education, nature, and faith – a life that she herself recognized as quite blessed – a life that she was prepared to leave, trusting in the God who had sustained her for nearly a century.

For many of us, Kitty’s death has kind of stopped us in our tracks, you know? Her leaving us has been a reminder of what is most important.

Before Kitty’s death, I had also been thinking a lot about the Walk for Peace that recently concluded not far from us, in Annapolis.

You probably know the story because it really did break through the noise and captured our attention and our imaginations.

Back in October, a group of 24 Buddhist monks and their dog Aloka, began a walk of over 2,000 miles, starting in Ft. Worth, Texas, walking along public roads, covering about 20 miles each day.

A few of the monks chose to offer an even deeper sacrifice, walking barefoot.

Most days, during their midday break and in the evening, the monks offered a teaching to whoever showed up, but their most powerful teaching was the walk itself, which they hoped would raise “awareness of peace, loving kindness, and compassion across America and the world.”

The Walk for Peace demanded great sacrifice – during much of their journey through the South the monks endured brutal winter weather, and in a terrible incident, a truck hit the monks’ escort vehicle, which then injured two of the monks, including one who lost a foot and part of his leg.

And even their dog Aloka needed to have leg surgery along the way, endearing him to even more people.

The Walk for Peace really was an extraordinary, even heroic, event. And I’m sure many of us wondered where and how the monks found the inspiration and strength to keep going, for all those weeks, over all those miles.

Well, I’m pretty sure that this a group of spiritually mature and deeply rooted people, people who have a lot of practice at meditation and prayer, people good at simply “being.”

And by being good at simply “being,” they are also good at “doing.”

Being and doing.

We are now just a few days into the 40 days of Lent.

As we do every Lent, we’ve made a few changes here in church, putting away or veiling most of our shiny things, placing a heavier emphasis on our confession of sin and the absolution, and we’ll refrain from saying the “A word” until Easter morning.

All these changes are meant to grab our attention, to cut through the noise, to remind us that this is a season for us to repent, to sacrifice, and to devote even just a little bit of time to prayer, both here, together, and on our own.

Lent is an opportunity to become little better at simply being, which will make us better at doing the work God gives us to do.

And today, on the First Sunday in Lent, we hear the story of Jesus’ own forty-day experience, his time in the wilderness, tempted by Satan.

As ever, Satan’s temptations are quite clever, suggesting to the starving Jesus that he just turn these stones into bread.

Satan’s temptations are quite clever, inviting Jesus to jump from the Temple, go ahead, Jesus, put your faith to the test.

Satan’s temptations are quite clever, offering Jesus the whole world, if only Jesus would worship him.

Well, of course, Jesus doesn’t fall for it. 

But why was the starving and exhausted Jesus able to resist Satan?

Well, Jesus is the Son of God. So, there’s that.

But it’s not only that.

Just before his 40 days in the wilderness, Jesus was baptized by John in the River Jordan.

     Just as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit descending like a dove and a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

     The gospels are full of Jesus “doing” – all his teaching and healing – but at his baptism, Jesus was only “being” - simply receiving God’s gift – just like us at our baptism.

And we know that Jesus was a person of prayer.

The gospels have several stories of him retreating from the crowds, even sometimes trying to get away from his disciples, wanting, needing, some quiet time with the Father.

I would imagine it was prayer – time spent simply being - that inspired Jesus to go to the Jordan to be baptized and begin his work.

And Jesus must have reflected on his baptism.

No doubt, Jesus pondered what he had seen and heard, spending time simply “being” with the Father.

And “being” prepared Jesus for the “doing” of resisting temptation, prepared him, gave him strength, for the long road ahead.

And the same is true for us.

Being and doing.

Not only is today the First Sunday in Lent, it’s also Annual Meeting Day.

I hope you will stick around for our meeting.

And I hope you’ll read our voluminous, highly detailed report, which a lot of people put a lot of time and effort into, most especially our Parish Administrator, Jane Farnan.

In our report, the stories of “doing” are obvious and amazing:

Teaching our children, caring for our buildings and grounds, assisting at worship, planning for our future, being good stewards, serving the community beyond our church doors.

Yes, there are so many stories of “doing”:

There’s the tireless and generous work of our amazingly devoted wardens, Barritt Peterson and Sana Brooks, who have supported all of us, especially me. 

      And there’s the devoted and creative work of so many other leaders, both official and unofficial.

There’s a lot of “doing” at St. Thomas’ but, there are also stories of “being.”

Church attendance increased last year; more people have been gathering here, praying here, more often.

We added another weekday service, Evening Prayer on Tuesdays. That service isn’t drawing huge numbers and probably never will, but I have no doubt that the prayers offered by a few of us are a powerful blessing for the whole community.

There’s the Adult Bible Study – so many of you reading and reflecting deeply, wrestling with Scripture, and now pondering The Screwtape Letters.

And my sense is that more of you are reading Forward Day by Day and using some of the prayer apps out there, spending more time simply being with God.

You know, it’s a running joke around the office and among some of our leaders that I like an “active” church.

That’s true. And, judging by all the action in the Annual Report, a lot of you agree with me!

Our active church – our servant church - is doing so much good.

But we’re likely to burn out and fail if our “doing” is not balanced by, not replenished by, “being.”

Unfortunately, the news cycle is not going to slow down anytime soon.

No doubt, there will be many challenges, dangers, and temptations on the long road ahead.

There will always be plenty to do.

So, especially this Lent, let’s follow the example of our brother Jesus, the person of prayer.

      Let’s follow the example of the Buddhist monks, spiritually rooted before they undertook their long journey of peace. 

      And let’s follow the example of the very active Kitty Washburne, sustained and strengthened by all those quiet, mindful hours tending her garden.

May we be a people of being and doing.

Amen.

Cross of Ash, Cross of Oil

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 18, 2026

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

Psalm 103

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Cross of Ash, Cross of Oil

    Today – Ash Wednesday – is one of the most solemn days of the Church Year.

    And it’s also one of the strangest days of the year.

    It’s a particularly strange day for priests who, over and over, make a cross of ashes on forehead after forehead, young and old, sick and healthy, telling everyone to remember that someday they – we – are going to die.

    But, if that’s all that Ash Wednesday is about, then I don’t think it makes much sense to gather here today.

    Most of us probably don’t need to be reminded of our mortality – especially not here, where we have attended funerals for people we have known and loved – especially not here, where we are surrounded by so many who have gone before us, our beloved dead buried in our cemetery, people who lived, loved, lost, rejoiced, wept, hoped.

    Just like us.

    No, today is not just about being reminded about death.

    And in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus warns us against being a religious show-off.

    This is the same gospel lesson we always hear on Ash Wednesday, which is a little funny and ironic because today is the only day we bear a physical sign vouching for our church attendance – it’s like an “I Voted” sticker made of ash.

    But I doubt that anyone is here today to impress the people who will see our smudge of ash.

    Which is a good thing, both because Jesus tells us not to do that and, because nobody “out there” cares that we went to church today.

    But rather than a reminder of mortality or a chance to show off, I hope today’s cross of ash will be a reminder of another cross, the cross of oil that we received at our baptism.

    You know, baptism is like both Good Friday and Easter.

    Just as Jesus died and rose again, our old self dies in the water of baptism and then we are born anew.

    And right after our baptism, we are marked on our foreheads with a cross of oil, sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own, forever.

    Marked as Christ’s own. 

    Forever.

    There’s nothing that we could ever do or not do – there’s nothing that could ever happen to us – there’s nothing that could ever dissolve God’s bond with us, nothing that could ever break God’s bond with us.

    Nothing. 

    Never. 

    Ever.

    Not even death itself.

    So, in a moment, on behalf of the church, I will invite us all to a holy Lent.

    And on this solemn and strange day and during this solemn and strange season, yes, we should remember that this life is precious and finite.

    We are dust and to dust we shall return.

    But let’s also remember the cross of oil that can never be wiped away.

    Let’s remember and celebrate God’s bond of love with us – a bond stronger than death, a bond stronger than anything.

Amen.