Letting Our Light Shine

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 26, 2021

The First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Psalm 147

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

John 1:1-18

Letting Our Light Shine

Merry Christmas!

We have had an amazing Christmas here at St. Thomas’.

Thanks to the creativity and hard work and generosity of parishioners, the church looks so beautiful.

And, despite their reduced numbers, Wanda and our choir produced so much glorious music – and, at our late service on Christmas Eve, the handbell choir sounded fantastic.

The children were adorable as they brought the nativity to life in the Christmas Tableau.

I knew Christmas would be amazing here but it was even more special than I had imagined.

By now, the world is beginning to move on from Christmas, on to whatever the next thing is – New Year’s Eve, I guess.

Very soon, people will be taking down their trees, and putting away the decorations for another year. 

But, here in church, Christmas has just begun.

It’s still Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

And, to add to our Christmas joy, in just a few minutes I’ll have the honor of baptizing Annalouise – yet another Christmas gift for all of us.

Some of you may remember that last month I had my first baptisms here at St. Thomas’. Baptizing people is just about my favorite thing to do as a priest, so I was really excited, but also a little anxious that everything go well.

Near the end of the baptism, I light the baptismal candle from the Paschal Candle. I hold the candle before the newly baptized and I say:

“You are the light of the world. Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” 

Often newly baptized babies are captivated by the light. Sometimes they even reach out for the light.

Well, anyway, at my first baptism here, just when it was time to light the first baptismal candle, I realized that we had forgotten to light the Paschal Candle.

John Lang and I put on a kind of Keystone Kops performance, desperately trying to get the candle lighted – and after what was probably just a minute but felt like a half hour, the candle finally burned bright, the newly baptized received the light, and there was great relief and rejoicing all around.

Today, on the First Sunday after Christmas, we hear the Christmas story as told by the Evangelist John.

John doesn’t tell us anything about Mary and Joseph, or angels and shepherds. There’s nothing about no room at the inn, and no mention of a manger.

Instead, John offers us a cosmic Christmas.

In and through Jesus, God’s light shines into our shadowy world.

God’s light is so bright that it overcomes the shadows of fear and hatred – God’s light is so bright that it is stronger even than death itself.

You know, I’ve never done a Christmas baptism before, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it is absolutely perfect.

It’s perfect because it’s in the water of baptism that the light of Christ begins to shine bright in us.

It’s in the water of baptism that we really do become the light of the world.

That’s why the candle is such an important symbol – that’s why John and I were determined to get that candle burning if it was the last thing we did!

It’s in the water of baptism that the light of Christ begins to shine bright in us – but Baptism really is just the beginning.

For the rest of Annalouise’s life, and for the rest of all of our lives, with God’s help, our task is to shine our light into an often shadowy world.

With God’s help, our task is to resist evil – to be Good News for people who usually get a whole lot of bad news.

With God’s help, our task is to love our neighbor as our self – to devote our lives to justice and peace – to shine our light into the shadows so that the world may see our good works and give glory to the God who makes it all possible.

Now, I don’t know, maybe this all sounds like it’s too much to ask – maybe it sounds pie-in-the-sky – maybe it sounds like it’s impossible.

So, two things about that.

First, we have faithful role models – we have holy women and men who through the ages have allowed the light of Christ to shine through them.

This morning I woke up to the sad news that one of the holiest men of our time – Archbishop Desmond Tutu - has died.

During his life he courageously stood up to a cruel and seemingly invincible foe, absolutely convinced that light would overcome shadow.

Tutu was fearless because he knew the battle was already won. The only problem was his opponents had not realized it, yet.

And, after the fall of South Africa’s racist regime, he insisted that there needed to be truth and reconciliation, again shining light into some very deep shadows.

Once when I was in seminary, I had the privilege of hearing Archbishop Tutu preach – an experience I won’t ever forget.

The theme of his sermon was that God calls us to help with God’s mission – God calls us to shine God’s light into the shadows.

He concluded his sermon by allowing God to speak through him, saying to us over and over, “Help me, help me, help me…”

His voice grew ever softer, giving us all chills, convincing all of us that God really was – really is – calling us to shine God’s light into our shadowy world.

So, we know we can shine God’s light because others have showed us the way.

Second, while Annalouise and we can and should shine our light on our own – when we’re at work or school  - when we’re in our car or in the supermarket, the truth is that our light shines even brighter together.

And you know I’m not making that up because you’ve all seen how bright it gets in here when we’re all together, how bright it gets when we all chip in to help people in need. 

I’ve seen it myself.

For example, the mountain of gifts that you generously contributed to the Christmas Extravaganza made our parish hall so very bright.

So, St. Thomas’, this is my Christmas message:

You are the light of the world.

Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

Merry Christmas!

Amen.

 

Messengers of Peace

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 25, 2021

Christmas Day

Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm 98

Hebrews 1:1-4

John 1:1-14

Messengers of Peace

Merry Christmas!

Although the pandemic forced us to scale back in different ways, we still had glorious celebrations last night.

This old holy place looked – and still looks – so very beautiful.

I would not have thought it possible, but the music was even more glorious than I imagined.

Although we were sorry to not have a pageant, our adorable children did a great job with the Christmas tableau.

It was all quite amazing.

And now, after a quick night’s sleep, here we are again.

Merry Christmas!

I will confess to you that as beautiful as the Christmas Eve services are, it’s Christmas Day that is my favorite.

The church is still beautiful, but it has grown quieter.

Maybe this morning is a little bit like what Mary and Joseph experienced after the angels and shepherds had departed – when it was just the two of them, exhausted and excited, alone with the newborn Son of God.

Now, as the child slept softly, maybe Mary and Joseph had a few minutes at last to catch their breath, to reflect a little on what this new life means for them and for the world.

Each year on Christmas morning we read and hear the Prologue to the Gospel of John.

This familiar and rich passage is the product of several decades of divinely inspired reflection on who Jesus is and what his coming among us means for the world.

In his version of the Christmas story, John doesn’t give us any information on shepherds or angels, nothing about no room at the inn, no mention of a newborn baby placed in a manger.

Instead, John gives us a kind of cosmic Christmas, taking us all the way back to the beginning when the Word was with God – when, in and through the Word, God created everything – and now that Word has come among us in and through a real-life flesh and blood human being, Jesus.

John loves to describe Jesus as light – the light shining in our shadowy world – the light that is never overcome by the forces of fear and hate – the light that defeats death itself.

Lots of people had longed for this day, not least prophets like Isaiah who could see ahead to a time when we would abandon our fears and hatreds, when we would lay down our weapons – the day when all of us would gather on God’s holy mountain for the best party of all time.

That day arrived when Mary and Joseph placed the newborn Son of God into a feeding trough meant for animals.

That day arrived when the Risen Christ appeared to his frightened disciples, saying “Peace be with you.”

But, at the same time, we don’t have to look very hard to see that for many people the day of rejoicing has still not arrived.

And that’s where we come in.

Long ago, the Prophet Isaiah wrote:

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation…”

This Christmas, when it is bright and joyful in here but so shadowy and sad out there, you and I are called to be messengers of peace.

You and I are called to be messengers of peace up and down the hills and valleys of the county and on the streets of the city.

You and I are called to be messengers of peace at home, at work, in school, in line at the supermarket, and online where there is so much ugliness.

You and I are called to be messengers of peace by welcoming the stranger, sharing what we have, and offering words of comfort to the many suffering people all around us.

So, on this quiet Christmas morning, let’s reflect a little on what it means that God has come among us – the light shining in our shadowy world.

And, let’s recommit to being messengers of peace, each of us in our own way brightening the shadows with the light and love of Christ.

Merry Christmas!

Making Room for Christ

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2021

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

Making Room For Christ

Merry Christmas!

So, this is Christmas at St. Thomas’ Church!

Most of you know that this is my first Christmas here, and, while I had heard that our celebrations would be pretty spectacular, I confess that I was not fully prepared for how beautiful this old holy place looks, for how glorious the music sounds, and for just how much joy I feel being here with all of you.

Thank you so much to everyone who has worked very hard to prepare for this day.

And, most of all, thank you to God – the God who never gives up on us, the God who will never let go of us, no matter what.

Today’s gospel lesson is a story that somehow never loses its power, no matter how many times we hear it.

It’s the story of God coming among us, but not with pounding drums or flashing lights, not with any spectacle at all.

God comes among us as a newborn child, a child born to people nobody saw as important or powerful, born to people who could not even provide proper shelter.

Imagine their anxiety and fear, giving birth far from home, far from the people who had known Mary and Joseph their whole lives, far from the women who knew just what to do at a time like this.

Far from home, the best that Mary and Joseph could do for the child was to place him in a manger, a fancy word that we use to dress up a harsh reality: the Son of God spent his first night on earth in a feeding trough meant for animals.

See, from the very start, the world had trouble making room for Jesus – the world had trouble making room for this holy child born far from home.

The world had trouble making room for Jesus – trouble making room for a messiah who spent a lot of time with the wrong sorts of people – trouble making room for a savior who calls on us to love one another, to love especially the people we may not like or maybe trust, to love even our enemies.

The world had trouble making room for Jesus – a lord who got on his knees to wash the feet of his friends – a king who gave away his life in service to others - the Prince of Peace whose life of love seemed to end in the pain and shame of the cross.

It’s an old story.

It all happened long ago.

As Luke reminds us, first century Judea was a land ruled by the faraway Emperor Augustus. It was a land where crucifixion was a common event. It was a land where many people were frustrated, angry, and frightened – a land where at least some people still held on to the hope that God would act again as God had acted in the past – a land where people dared to dream that someday soon God would show them the way back to the garden, back to how life was always meant to be.

But, when God finally did act, the people of first century Judea had trouble making room for Jesus.

Each year we tell this story, not just because it’s old and powerful, not just because we’ve always done it, but because it is still true today.

One of my heroes, Dorothy Day, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker, once said, “It is no use to say that we are born two thousand years too late to give room to Christ. Nor will those who live at the end of the world have been born too late. Christ is always with us, always asking for room in our hearts.”

“Christ is always with us, asking for room in our hearts.”

A few years from now, after I’ve been here a while, maybe I’ll take for granted the beauty of this place – maybe I’ll get used to the glorious music, and the joy of us being here together.

I hope not, but maybe.

But, I’m pretty sure I’ll never get over the hospitality and generosity of this parish.

I’ll never forget the welcome you have given to my wife Sue and me. Honestly, our first Sunday here felt like Christmas in July – and it feels like there have been a lot of Christmases since then.

Much more important, I’ll never get over the many ways you open your hearts to people in need – making all of those sandwiches for the guests at Paul’s Place, giving 185 Thanksgiving dinner bags to help people we’ll probably never meet have a wonderful holiday, and most recently, for our Christmas Extravaganza, you donated over 350 items of warm clothing, over 1600 diapers, 52 bags of toys, and 70 gift cards for guests at the Community Crisis Center and for Afghan refugees.

I’m sure that everyone who gave thought that they were just doing what they could, doing what they were supposed to do, just happy to help neighbors in need.

That’s all true – but in a very real way you were making room for Christ – making room for Christ in our troubled world, making room for Christ in your heart.

Soon our beautiful celebration will be over and we’ll head back home, maybe for a little more Christmas or maybe just for a good night’s sleep.

The world will soon move on to the next thing, but let’s hold on to Christmas, at least for the full twelve days, but hopefully even longer than that.

Like Mary, let’s ponder all of this in our hearts:

God never gives up on us, never lets go of us, no matter what.

God comes among us, not with pounding drums and flashing lights, but born to a couple of nobodies who could barely take care of the newborn child.

And, today, right and here and now, Christ is asking for room in our hearts.

Even after just a short time together, I’ve learned enough about you to know how you will respond.

Merry Christmas, St. Thomas’ Church.

Amen.

Carrying Jesus Into the World

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2021

Christmas Eve (4:00PM)

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:11-14

Carrying Jesus Into the World

Merry Christmas, everyone!

It is so good to be together here in this beautiful place, to experience the joy of Christmas.

First of all, I want to thank everyone who worked so hard to make today happen – thank you to everybody who decorated the church and all those who are helping with the service.

Thank you to Wanda and our music team – and thank you to Sara and all who helped put together the “Christmas Tableau” that we’ll get to enjoy in just a few minutes.

The tableau will be wonderful, I’m sure, but we have to admit how sorry we are that for the second year in a row we’re not able to have our usual Christmas Pageant, which I know so many of you love and miss very much.

I’m sure many of you parents and grandparents here have special memories of particular Christmas pageants, when your children and grandchildren had the honor of making the Christmas story come alive for us.

As you might guess, I have been to a lot of Christmas pageants, but there is one in particular that I will always especially remember.

About a decade ago I served for a year in a church in Florida that, like St. Thomas’, had its own preschool.

Each year the schoolchildren would put on a pageant in the church on the last day of school before Christmas vacation.

Just like every pageant, the kids looked adorable in their costumes, and they all took their parts very seriously.

But, that year I noticed that the little girl playing Mary seemed especially serious – she knew and delivered all of her lines perfectly, and moved about the “stage” with a lot of confidence.

With great care, she held the doll that was meant to be the Baby Jesus – as if it really were a baby, as if it really was Jesus.

After the pageant was over, I said a few prayers and then we were done.

The children all ran to their families and there were lots of hugs and congratulations all around.

And, no surprise, the families and kids were eager to hit the road – to get Christmas going at last.

But, as the little girl who had played Mary began to leave with her family, she stopped short with a look of remembering something important.

She turned around, walked back to the manger and picked up the doll.

And, cradling the Baby Jesus in her arms, she walked beside her parents out of the church and into the world.

It was just a small moment, but you can see why I’ve never forgotten it.

Even more than in her pageant performance, in that moment the little girl captured what Mary did two thousand years ago – and in that moment the little girl captured what we Christians today are meant to do.

On the first Christmas, Jesus came among us. 

And now, you and I, all of us, no matter how young or old, we are all meant to carry Jesus into the world.

We carry Jesus into the world by being kind to everyone, even the people we don’t like.

We carry Jesus into the world by sharing what we have, especially with people who can never pay us back.

And so, I hope that in a little while when we leave this beautiful place, we will all remember to carry Jesus out into the world – out into the world that is waiting for him – out into the world that needs him so very much.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Amen.

Visitations

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 19, 2021

Year C: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Micah 5:2-5a

Psalm 80:1-7

Hebrews 10:5-1

Luke 1:39-55

Visitations

        The other day I was telling someone about the very first class I took in seminary.

Back then, I was still a high school history teacher, and Sue and I had only been members of the Episcopal Church for a couple of years.

But, in that short time, the joy I felt in our new church reawakened in me an old sense of call to the priesthood – a call that was exciting, scary, and, frankly, more than a little inconvenient.

And it was a call that couldn’t be ignored. So, I decided to enroll in a class as a non-matriculated student at General Seminary in New York City, just a short train ride away from our home across the river in New Jersey.

The idea was to see if I liked it, if I could imagine myself as a student there, fitting in with the others – and to see if I could do the work.

So, one afternoon at the start of the fall semester, I headed over to New York for my very first class. I remember it was pouring rain as I waited outside the seminary, my stomach fluttering with what felt like a swarm of butterflies, as I tried to work up the courage to step inside.

Well, I loved that first class – it was called Christian Spiritual Practice, taught by a wise and kind professor.

It’s true that at first, I felt a little intimidated by the other students who seemed to know much more than I did, but I also thought, with some preparation maybe I could catch up.

By the time class was over, the skies had cleared and it was a beautiful evening in New York.  I was so excited as I walked those long crosstown blocks back to the train. I couldn’t wait to tell Sue all about it. It felt like I could see my new life unfolding before me. 

God is always present but there are times when God feels especially close. That night, it felt like God had visited me and was now walking by my side. 

The date was September 10, 2001.

The next morning – that impossibly clear blue morning - I was still thrilled by what felt like the first step into the rest of my life. I brought a couple of the books for the course with me to school, hoping to look them over during my free periods.

And then, out my classroom windows, my students and I saw all hell break loose, and suddenly the excitement and hope of the night before seemed long ago and far away.

God is always present, but there are times when God feels distant.

Where was God now?

Throughout the Old Testament, there are times when God seems to visit God’s people, when God feels as close as the person beside you, or closer even than that.

Think of God leading God’s people during the long exodus from slavery in Egypt to new life in the Promised Land – there was God – a cloud by day and a fire by night.

But, there were other times when God seemed to have stepped back – the days of invasion and defeat, the long years of occupation and exile, times when God seemed to have abandoned God’s people or, even worse, rejected them.

The psalmist wrote:

Restore us, O god of hosts; show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.

Which is a poetic way of saying, “Hey, we’re in trouble here. Where are you, God?”

The first century - when the Romans occupied Judea - when crucifixion was a common occurrence – that was one of the times when people were frightened and angry, when people called out to God, when people yearned to see God’s face, when people waited with expectation, hope, and maybe some impatience, too – waited for God to visit again.

For the past two Sundays, we have been spending time with a grown-up John the Baptist, that fiery and compelling prophet who offered a baptism of repentance, calling people to change direction, a change that for them began in the River Jordan.

Despite, or maybe because of, his tough message, John appealed to many of his fellow Jews in first century Judea, so much so that lots of people thought that he was the messiah – the long-awaited savior of Israel who would liberate the people from Roman tyranny.

But, John insisted that he was simply preparing the way for the Holy One who was soon to come.

And now, today on the Fourth Sunday of Advent we back up to before John and Jesus were born, back to nearly the start of our story.

It’s the Evangelist Luke who tells us that John and Jesus were family, related through their mothers Elizabeth and Mary.

And it’s Luke who tells us that both Elizabeth and Mary were blessed with miraculous pregnancies – both of these women, one old and the other young, became profound signs of what God always offers: new life.

Not long after she said “yes” to God, we’re told that pregnant Mary journeyed to the Judean hill country to visit her pregnant kinswoman.

I love this encounter between Mary and Elizabeth, a moment that’s often called “The Visitation.”

  The Visitation is intimate – it’s just these two women – it’s just these two women who were not at all important or powerful in the eyes of the world – just these two soon-to-be mothers carrying their unborn miracle sons.

The men seem to be absent – there’s no sign of Zechariah or Joseph - it’s just these two women marveling at God’s goodness, while trusting that God will be with them through the trouble ahead – and there is always trouble when God brings down the powerful and lifts up the lowly.

This is how God visits us – not with pounding drums or flashing lights, not with spectacle, but quietly, as quiet as two women greeting each other in wonder, as quiet as a lullaby or a held hand, as quiet as a newborn child falling asleep in a feeding trough meant for animals, the best that Mary and Joseph will be able to do for the Son of God.

On the evening of September 11, Sue and I walked from our house to our church, St. Paul’s, where the Rector, Dave Hamilton, had invited the whole parish to a service – a service for what exactly, I’m not sure he or we could say.

We all wanted to pray for the dead and the missing, of course, for all the heartbroken and frightened – and I’m sure some of us wanted to pray for vengeance, too.

We cried out, “Hey, we’re in trouble here. Where are you, God?”

But, most of all, after a day of so much fear and loss and sorrow, it seemed important that we should all be together.

I don’t remember very much about that service, not much about whatever words Dave managed to say. I think we celebrated Holy Communion, but I’m not entirely sure.

But, gathered there in that old holy place that already meant so much to me, there in the dark and in the quiet, it felt like God was visiting once again – not the euphoria of the night before during my crosstown walk – but something deeper, something that felt more permanent – a sense that somehow God would be with me, with us, through the troubles of that day and the days ahead.

And now, for us, in our time of trouble, the days of hope and preparation and waiting are almost over.

The four Advent candles are burning bright.

It’s almost Christmas.

If you’re in town, I sure hope you will be here for our Christmas celebrations.

There are a few things I know for sure:

The music will be glorious.

The sermons will be relatively brief.

And, while God is always present, especially in this old holy place, God will surely visit us – God will feel especially close, in the Christmas joy that we will share.

For some of us, these are busy and distracting days – and for others this can be a lonely and sad time, but whether we feel overwhelmed by our many tasks or worn down by the blues – or maybe both - I encourage all of us to take up one important Christian spiritual practice: be on the look out for God to visit us, not with spectacle or flash, but in the quiet.

As Mary and Elizabeth learned, God visits us quietly, always offering us new life, reminding us that God will be with us through it all, no matter what.

Amen.

Rejoice! Repentance is Good News

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 12, 2021

Year C: The Third Sunday of Advent

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Canticle 9

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

Rejoice! Repentance is Good News

So, after nearly five months together – a wonderful time of us getting to know each other and of me beginning to learn my way around this beautiful place – after nearly five months together, I’ve begun to introduce a few changes, small things, kind of around the edges.

There have been some adjustments to our service, mostly to emphasize the change of liturgical seasons.

We have added a third service to our Sunday schedule – the “Last Chance Mass” at 5:00pm – which, so far, seems to be pretty popular.

But, in what is surely my boldest move yet, today, the Third Sunday of Advent, we have switched our liturgical color from blue to rose.

I’m told that this has not been the custom at St. Thomas’, but the beautiful rose-colored hangings you see were discovered deep in a sacristy drawer, so, although it’s been a while, this is clearly a restoration not an innovation! Unfortunately, I realized too late that we don’t have a matching rose stole for me to wear – something we’ll fix for next time.

So, why rose on the Third Sunday of Advent?

Well, in the past, Advent was a more penitential season than it is now. Advent was more like a little Lent.

And so the practice of switching to rose on the Third Sunday of Advent was a way to let everybody know that the time of sacrifice and preparation is almost over.

Soon we will be celebrating the birth of Jesus!

Soon it will be Christmas!

So, rejoice! 

Rejoice!

For better or worse, Advent has lost much of its Lenten flavor, but the truth is that for the past couple of years – or maybe longer than that for some of us – it kind of feels like we’ve been living through a long Lent.

It’s been hard for many of us to follow Paul’s instruction to the Philippians to “rejoice in the Lord always.”

Rejoicing has been in short supply.

There’s been the fear and disruption and suffering and loss caused by the ongoing pandemic.

There have been the seemingly deep political divisions that have left some of our longstanding institutions looking shockingly shaky.

There have been unprecedented natural disasters, most recently the fiercely destructive tornadoes that tore through large parts of the Midwest and South.

And, as I mentioned last week, we live in a land stained by the disaster of violence – violence in our schools and on our streets – we live in a land where so many people are angry and frustrated and so very frightened.

But, at least some of us still cling to hope – trusting that God will visit us one again and lead us out of the mess that we have created, lead us back to the garden, back to the way God always intended things to be.

Things were not so different back in first century Roman-occupied Judea, a land also stained by violence, a land where many people were angry and frustrated and so very frightened – and a time when at least some people clung to hope – trusting that God would soon visit God’s people and once again lead them to freedom.

And so when John the Baptist began his work in and around the River Jordan, lots of people understandably thought that the moment of liberation – the day of rejoicing – had finally arrived.

And, although John was not the messiah, the people were not wrong to recognize that their hopes were being fulfilled, at last.

In today’s passage from the Gospel of Luke, surprisingly enough, we don’t hear much about John baptizing.

Instead, we hear some of the content of John’s preaching.

John’s message comes to us in three parts.

First, he uses some rather harsh language, calling his “congregation” “you brood of vipers” – a family of snakes - telling his fellow Jews that they should not assume that they are good with God just because they are children of Abraham.

More than a birthright, more than history, is required.

Second, when the people ask what they must do, John gives them very direct and practical instructions: 

Those who have extra must share with those who have none.

Don’t steal or cheat.

And, finally, John dashes the hopes of those who thought he was the messiah. Instead, he points to the one who is about to come – painting a vivid picture of a savior who will separate the wheat from the chaff, burning the chaff with “unquenchable fire.”

Luke concludes his description of John’s preaching with words that at first seem discordant or almost funny:

“So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the Good News to the people.”

Unless we’re absolutely sure that we are wheat and not chaff, it might be hard to hear the Good News in John’s preaching.

But, here’s the thing: repentance is good news.

The Good News is that through John and most of all Jesus, God offers us the way out of our mess, showing us the way back to the garden, back to the way things were always meant to be.

Repentance is good news.

Now we tend to think of repentance as just saying we’re sorry for our misdeeds and trying to do better. That’s important, for sure, but for John and Jesus repentance means much more.

Repentance is admitting to ourselves and to others that we’ve been on the wrong road.

Repentance is admitting that we can’t save ourselves.

Repentance is seeking God’s help to finally change direction.

Repentance is, with God’s help, a dramatic and decisive change of direction.

Repentance is good news.

Whenever I reflect on John the Baptist, I’m always struck by the fact that he drew big crowds to the River Jordan – that lots of people came to hear his challenging message – that lots of people presented themselves for baptism.

There is a lesson for the church here – a reminder to not water down the gospel.

But more than that, John’s “popularity” signals that back in first century Judea, people – lots of people – they knew that they were on the wrong track – they knew that they needed to change direction – and they sensed that, through John, God offered the way back.

That’s why people will follow Jesus, too – Jesus who was not one to sugarcoat his message, either.

So, maybe during these difficult days, Advent again needs to be a little more like Lent – a time for each of us to look into our own hearts and to look at our own lives to see where we have taken wrong turns, how we have lost our way.

Maybe Advent again needs to be a little more like Lent – a time for us here in a community with a long history to shake off our complacency – a time for us who have many coats to be even more loving and more generous. 

Just like the people back in the first century who got washed by John, and the people who followed Jesus, with God’s help, we can repent and change direction.

So, rejoice! Repentance is good news.

Amen.  

Into the Way of Peace

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 5, 2021

Year C: The Second Sunday of Advent

Baruch 5:1-9

The Song of Zechariah

Philippians 1:3-11

Luke 3:1-6

Into the Way of Peace

This past Thursday I had the pleasure of visiting The St. Paul’s Schools. The chaplains showed me around the impressive campus of this Episcopal institution, and I even got to spend a few minutes with our own parishioner Margaret Green in her classroom.

Walking through the halls of St. Paul’s and seeing the students hurrying to their classes or horsing around in the cafeteria made me nostalgic for my teaching days.

I taught for about 16 years, mostly high school history. It was the job – the life – that I left in order to go to seminary and prepare for ordination.

Some of you know all that. But, what you don’t know is that about five or six years ago I briefly returned to teaching.

St. Peter’s Prep, my alma mater and former employer, was looking for a religion teacher. I decided to apply for the position because this was a chance to get back to teaching, a vocation I really missed. I also decided to apply because getting this job would take some financial pressure off my church, and, frankly, it would give Sue and me a bit more security.

It sure seemed like a win-win-win proposition.

Well, I got the job and returned to the classroom, while also continuing as rector of our church in Jersey City.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I had made a big mistake. Yes, my teaching skills were definitely rusty after more than a decade out of the classroom, but most of all I recognized a little too late that I just didn’t have the energy to do two full-time jobs, or at least I couldn’t do both of them well.

So, after a few exhausting and anxiety-filled days, I worked up the courage to go see the school’s principal, who had hired me and who has been a very close friend since we were in high school together, and I told him I just couldn’t do it.

I left teaching a second time.

I guess I’m more or less over it by now, since I’m up here telling you about it, but the whole experience was embarrassing, and made me feel so bad about making other people’s lives more difficult.

During my brief return to the classroom, I noticed what any veteran teacher will tell you: teaching has changed a lot over the past couple of decades.

There is way more technology, of course.

And there are the active shooter drills.

During my brief time back in school, I participated in one of those drills. When the alarm rang, I happened to be with one other person in an office. Door locked. Blinds drawn. And we waited silently, awkwardly, until the all clear.

I wondered what effect these drills must have on the children and staff.

And, I couldn’t help imagining what the real thing would be like.

Unfortunately, not much imagination was necessary, since school shootings have become tragically common – the most recent at Oxford High School in Michigan, where a 15 year-old boy shot 11 people, killing four of his fellow students – reportedly using a gun that was an early Christmas present from his parents.

I wish that I could be shocked by this tragedy, but we’ve all seen it too often for that. Sadness and anger and fear, yes. But not shock.

And, of course, we don’t have to look as far as Michigan to find heartbreaking examples of senseless violence.

A few weeks ago, Baltimore City passed the grim milestone of 300 homicides this year. The victims include Evelyn Player, a 69 year-old woman who was stabbed in her East Baltimore church.

And across our country, political disagreements have become so emotional and so bitter that some people are threatening violence – and sometimes even acting on their threats.

I have no great insights about all of this, let alone solutions.

But, it’s important for us to face up to the fact that we live in a violent and bloodstained time and place, among many people who are angry, resentful, so very frightened.

And, just maybe, there are some of us who are still hopeful, too, despite it all.

In today’s gospel lesson, the Evangelist Luke sets the stage for John the Baptist and for Jesus himself, by listing the names of various political and religious leaders.

At least some of their names are still familiar to us after two thousand years.

For me, Luke’s attention to historical context underlines that the story he is about to tell does not take place in heaven or in some made-up place here on earth.

No, John the Baptist and Jesus and all the people we meet in the New Testament lived in a particular time and place.

And, it was a time and place – first century Judea under Roman occupation – that was violent and bloodstained, filled with people who were angry, resentful, so very frightened.

And maybe there were some who were still hopeful, too, despite it all.

Tiberius was a brutal emperor, and Pontius Pilate was a ruthless governor.  The family of Herod the Great was depraved. The Jewish high priests had to walk a fine line between keeping the Roman occupiers happy while also meeting their responsibilities to their own people, and to God.

And it was vitally important to keep the Romans happy – by paying taxes and offering no resistance – because at the first sign of pushback the Romans would crush their occupied peoples. Crucifixion was a common event, meant to show any would-be troublemaker that this is what happens to anyone who challenges Rome.

Just like our land today, first century Judea was a long, long way from the beautiful garden that God has always intended for us.

Yet, despite the mess we make of things, God does not give up on us.

Just the opposite.

For reasons known only to God, God keeps on loving this broken and bloody world and God keeps on loving all of us messed up people.

God loves us enough to send John the Baptist, the prophet who prepares the way for Jesus.

John was the fruit of a miraculous conception, born to Elizabeth who was surely too old for pregnancy.

John’s father was the priest Zechariah who at first didn’t believe this new life could be possible but who will later burst into song at his son’s birth, overjoyed that his miracle child will prepare the way for the long-awaited Messiah – Jesus - who will “guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Into the way of peace.

It’s worth remembering that both John and Jesus will be victims of violence - state-sponsored violence, actually.

The shadow of the cross looms over the manger.

Yet, even after the worst things happen, even after the two miracle children John and Jesus are killed, even after a faithful woman is killed in the church she loved, even after kids in school are gunned down by a classmate, even after we all mess up in ways big and small, even after all that and more, God still does not give up on us and our broken and bloody world.

Advent and Christmas and especially Easter – the whole Christian story, really – teaches us that God loves this broken world - and God loves us, even when we make poor decisions, even when we fail, even when we hate one another, even when we hurt one another, even when we find it too hard to forgive, even when we lose hope.

God loves this real world and God loves us messed-up people – and through blessed John the Baptist and through Jesus most of all, God shows us the way to the beautiful garden, back to how life was always meant to be.  

Just like for the people of first century Judea, there’s only question for us: are we willing to change direction, allowing Jesus to guide our feet into the way of peace?

Amen.

Quiet Time

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 28, 2021

Year C: The First Sunday of Advent

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-9

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

Quiet Time

Well, last Sunday we had quite the celebration of our new ministry together!

Thanks to the talent and hard work of so many parishioners and our staff, the church and grounds looked beautiful, the music was beyond excellent, and it was so good to finally have at least some fellowship in the hall – the chance to enjoy each other’s company, not to mention those delicious cupcakes, each bearing the seal of our church – such a classic St. Thomas’ touch.

And it was great to have our bishop here with us.

And my dad was here, as well as a few good friends from New Jersey.

And it was especially wonderful to see so many parishioners at both services, including more than a few I had not met before, and an encouraging number of children and youth, too.

And let’s not forget all those Thanksgiving dinner bags – over 180 of them – so much overflowing generosity from our parish and preschool to our neighbors in need!

Yes, it was quite a day. 

Everyone seemed overjoyed to celebrate the official start of our work together – and, maybe more than that, everyone just seemed excited to be together again.

And, as for me, I think I know how St. Paul felt when he wrote these words to the Thessalonians:

“How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before God because of you?”

St. Thomas’, how can I thank God enough for all of you? 

How can I thank God enough for this holy and amazing place?

Of course, I do have an advantage over Paul, because he was far away from his beloved Thessalonians, but you and I get to be together on a regular basis!

But, you know, as great as last Sunday was, I do have a few regrets.

Not everyone was here – some parishioners were out of town – and my mother couldn’t be here, though I’m glad to say that Sue and I and both of my parents celebrated a beautiful Thanksgiving together in the rectory.

Another regret is that since we were busy celebrating our new ministry together, we did not get to commemorate the last Sunday of the church year: the Feast of Christ the King – although Wanda and the quartet did give us a glorious rendition of Crown him with many crowns.

So, if you don’t mind, today I want to spend a few minutes talking about Christ the King.

Unlike most of the rest of the church calendar, which is pretty ancient, the Feast of Christ the King is relatively new, dating to only 1925.

Back in the 1920’s the leaders of the Roman Catholic Church recognized that Christians – lots of Christians – were putting their ultimate trust in the “kings” of the world.

There were strongmen taking charge of countries, elevating themselves to the place of God, and demanding absolute loyalty from “their” people.

And, in a search for salvation, or at least solutions to their very real problems, growing numbers of people were putting their faith in ideologies and political and economic systems – the “isms”  - including nationalism, fascism, communism, and capitalism.

So, in response these distressing and destructive developments, the Catholic Church, and soon after, Anglicans like us and Lutherans and other churches, adopted the new Feast of Christ the King.

This relatively new addition to the calendar is a pointed reminder that our king is not a political or military leader.

Our king is not an ideology or a system.

Our king is Christ the King.

A century ago, one of the Christian leaders concerned about Christians following kings other than Christ was our own homegrown Episcopal saint, Samuel Shoemaker.

You may remember I talked a little bit about Shoemaker on All Saints’ Sunday.

He was baptized at St. Thomas’, grew up in Greenspring Valley, celebrated his first Holy Communion as a priest right here in our church, and is buried in our graveyard, just outside the church door.

Back in the middle part of the last century, Sam Shoemaker was perhaps the best-known Episcopal priest in the land, writing a couple of dozen books, broadcasting on the radio, and releasing his sermons on records.

Today he is best remembered for providing the spiritual foundations for AA, and all the other Twelve Step groups that have followed.

As I’ve been learning more about Shoemaker, I’ve become convinced that he has a lot to say to our own time today, when, let’s face it, many Christians are again – or still – placing their ultimate faith in “kings” other than Christ.

Throughout his preaching and writing, Shoemaker plotted a course for us to follow back to Christ – it was this path that AA’s founders borrowed to help people achieve and maintain sobriety.

And one of Shoemaker’s bedrock principles and practices was what he called Quiet Time.

For Shoemaker, Quiet Time was so important that he capitalized it.

Quiet Time.

Shoemaker repeatedly urged people to practice Quiet Time, ideally in the morning before the start of the business and busyness of the day.

Shoemaker taught that there are three main parts to Quiet Time.

First, is Bible study – to spend some time with a passage of scripture, to attentively read and ponder God’s Word. 

The second part of Quiet Time is prayer – to open our heart to God – to let God know what God already knows: our needs, our hopes, our fears, our regrets.

And the third is the quietest and, for Shoemaker, the most important part of Quiet Time – to simply listen for guidance from God.

You know, the “kings” of the world are usually noisy, clamoring for our attention, aiming to drown us in words and slogans, numbing us into submission.

But Christ is a different kind of king, a quiet king.

That’s why for Shoemaker, “listening became the dominant note” during Quiet Time.

A hundred years ago, people were busy just like many of us are busy today.

A hundred years ago, people were distracted by demands on our attention and weighed down by worry and grief, just like many of us are distracted and weighed down today.

But Shoemaker insisted that Quiet Time was essential.

And, by the way, AA borrowed Quiet Time from Shoemaker, and, in fact, during AA’s early days, Quiet Time was seen as even more important for recovering alcoholics than attending the meetings that are the best-known part of the program.

Quiet Time.

And now here we are today - the start of a new church year – the First Sunday of Advent.

In an effort to draw our attention to this holy season, we’ve made a few changes to our service, including switching our liturgical color to blue, the color often associated with hope and with the Virgin Mary, the young woman whose faith and courage will be at the heart of the Advent story.

And there’s our beautiful wreath, its candles reminding us that Advent is an all-too-quick season of just four Sundays – with the third Sunday represented by a rose candle, signaling that Christmas joy will soon be here.

Today and over the next few weeks, we will prepare for the birth of Christ the King, our king who was born not in a grand palace but quietly, in an out-of the-way and barely adequate place, recognized by almost no one.

And, as we heard loud and clear in today’s gospel lesson, during Advent we will also prepare for our king’s return on the Last Day.

With all the commotion and distractions of the world, I know it’s not easy, but Advent is meant to give us a few weeks of Quiet Time.

It’s an important opportunity, so let’s not miss it. 

  During these Advent days, let’s set aside even just a few extra moments for study, prayer, and, most of all, listening.

This quiet Advent, let’s once again place our faith and trust in Christ the King.

        And, if we do that, Jesus assures us that there is really nothing to fear from the inevitable troubles and tribulations of life – nothing to fear from the false kings of the world.

So, as a new year begins, together, let’s pray for a holy Advent - and for some much-needed Quiet Time.

Amen.