The Life-Changing and Holy Power of Welcome

From The Rector:

The Life-Changing and Holy Power of Welcome

I'm sure that all of us can look back at our lives and recognize key turning points, moments of significant change, times that set us off in a new and different direction. Of course, sometimes these moments are unhappy ones: the loss of a job, the rupture of a relationship, a frightening diagnosis, or the death of one we love. Fortunately, we are sometimes blessed with joyful moments like falling in love, making a new friend, experiencing physical or emotional healing, finding meaningful and satisfying work, helping someone in need, and discovering a place that quickly feels like home. Sue and I have been blessed with that gift more than once.

About 20 years ago, one of my teaching colleagues invited Sue and me to her church. That church was St. Paul's Episcopal Church, conveniently located just a few blocks from our house in Jersey City. We accepted the invitation because I liked my colleague, and we were curious about this architecturally interesting building, which has the incongruous look of an English country church on a side street in the city. And, maybe without even admitting it to ourselves, we went to this old church because we were hungry for some good spiritual food.

So, that Sunday (by the way, it was the Second Sunday of Advent, the holy season of preparation), we walked through the church doors, stepping into the unknown. Without knowing it, we reached one of the most momentous milestones of our lives. We were greeted warmly by the ushers and took our seats. When the service began, we followed along in the bulletin, prayer book, and hymnal as best we could. I spent most of the service looking and listening, awed by the beautiful building, impressed by the congregation's diversity, and dazzled by the choir's talent. But, the key moment was the Exchange of Peace. Honestly, it seemed like everyone was out in the aisle greeting one another, genuinely happy to see fellow parishioners. Sue and I were surprised and uncertain, not sure if we should (or, frankly, if we wanted to) join in the exuberant celebration. As we stood awkwardly, shyly half-waving to the people around us, the church's rector came down the aisle and stopped at our pew. He extended his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Dave. Welcome to St. Paul's."

That moment changed my life in ways I could have never imagined back on that memorable Advent Sunday. Sue and I returned the following Sunday, and on most of the hundreds of Sundays that followed. "Dave" (The Rev. Canon Dr. David Hamilton) became and has remained a close friend and cherished mentor. His welcome, and the congregation's embrace, gave us a taste of what an authentic Christian community can and should be. Dave's common touch and honesty, especially his unflinching willingness to share his own struggles, reawakened in me a call to ordained ministry. For Sue and me, our simple but profound encounter with the Body of Christ that day set in motion a meandering chain of events that later brought me back to St. Paul’s as rector, and eventually led us here to St. Thomas' and the exciting new chapter we are beginning together.

These past few weeks, your warm welcome of us has reminded me of that long-ago welcome at St. Paul's. So many of you have extended your hands, introducing yourselves (and, yes, often reintroducing yourselves!). You have given us beautiful and thoughtful gifts and invited us into your homes and lives. You have shared your insights and recommendations about this community and have offered to help us with "anything." It really has been something else – yet another beautiful milestone in our lives.

We all know that the ongoing pandemic has changed so much about how we "do church." Fear of spreading or catching disease prevents many of us from being as expressive and outgoing as we might want. And, although sadly necessary, wearing masks again certainly makes it more challenging to greet one another and particularly hard to identify people who might be new to our community. But, just about every Sunday of my ministry, including my first few unmasked and masked weeks here with you, when I've said, "The peace of the Lord be always with you," I've remembered Dave making his way down the aisle, reaching out his hand to us and changing our lives forever. And, even in – especially in – this time of anxiety and uncertainty, I pray that we never forget the simple but profound act of greeting a stranger in church: the life-changing and holy power of welcome.

Jesus' Order of Operations

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 29, 2021

Year B, Proper 17: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Song of Solomon 2:8-13

Psalm 45:1-2, 7-10

James 1:17-27

Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Jesus’ Order of Operations

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that I shared with you that singing is not one of my gifts.

After last week’s service, I heard from several parishioners who could relate to my problem. Thank you for that. It definitely made me feel better about myself.

Now, I promise I won’t do this every week but while I’m at it, today I’ll let you know about another of my weak spots: math.

Throughout my school years, math was a constant source of frustration. I did OK with arithmetic – I understood that it was useful to know how to add and subtract, multiply and divide – but once I got to the upper grades and we moved into algebra and, God help me, calculus, I really… lost the thread.

I just never understood the point of solving for x – and definitely never knew how that might be a help for me in the future.

Probably that was partly due to the way my brain is wired, although I’m not going to completely let my teachers off the hook.

Maybe some of you can relate.

Anyway, Sue and I have a very good friend who is a high school math teacher and whenever he starts talking about math I usually have to pretend that I know what he’s talking about.

The other night he was telling Sue and me about the start of the new school year and how he had begun by teaching his students about the “order of operations.”

Remember that?

Surprisingly enough, I vaguely remembered that term – order of operations – and I even remembered that in the order of operations you begin to solve a problem inside the parenthesis, and then make your way out.

And, if you don’t follow the order of operations, then you won’t correctly solve the problem.

I’m kind of proud of myself for remembering that.

And, I thought of the order of operations when I began reflecting on the words of Jesus in today’s gospel lesson.

If you were here last week, you may remember that, in addition to talking about my poor musical ability, I also spent some time talking about the Jerusalem Temple – the grand house for God that was first built by Solomon – the holiest place on earth where, in a sense, God was believed to dwell – the place that was the center of Israel’s religious and cultural life for centuries.

But, some of the Old Testament writers and prophets were critical of the Temple and its priests and rituals, reminding the people of Israel, and us today, that the kinds of sacrifice that God most desires is care for the poor, welcoming the stranger, and liberating the captive.

Jesus himself is part of this critical tradition. Think of the overturning of the moneychangers in the Temple.

But, Jesus isn’t just critical of the Temple and its rituals, he’s also critical of the religious leaders of his time and the way they burdened people with extra rules and rituals.

The problem isn’t that these rules and rituals were necessarily wrong or bad. 

No, the problem is when people don’t follow what we might call the correct order of operations.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark, we hear part of the long-running conflict between Jesus and some of the religious leaders of his time – in this case it’s “the Pharisees and some of the scribes.”

You’re familiar with the Pharisees – a religious group within Judaism who are usually, but not always, depicted as opponents of Jesus. However, the truth is we don’t know very much about the Pharisees. But, it’s probably safe to say that they were interested in making everyday life holy – getting people to take on religious practices at home or at work – like, for example, ritually washing hands before each meal.

Now, just for the record, we’re not talking about hygiene here. I’m sure Jesus wants us to wash our hands before we eat!

And, just like the Pharisees, I’m sure that Jesus is all for the holiness of everyday life.

Unfortunately, it seems that the Pharisees criticized people for not taking on these extra optional practices – like we heard today when they criticize Jesus’; disciples for skipping the ritual hand washing before meals.

That’s irritating, for sure, but for Jesus the big problem is when our order of operations is out of whack.

As we heard Jesus say today, “…there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come…”

And so just like in math, in Jesus’ order of operations we always begin on the inside  – we start with what’s going on in our hearts.

For Jesus, what’s going on in our hearts is at least as important as what we actually do.

And Jesus is very clear that if we allow ugliness to run wild in our hearts, then we will surely tumble into very serious sin, and all of our rituals and religious practices will have very little value.

So, how might we follow Jesus’ order of operations? 

How do we begin with our hearts?

Well, I’m reminded of the great theologian Augustine of Hippo, whose feast day we celebrated yesterday.

In his book called Confessions, Augustine wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

And Augustine knew what he was talking about. In Confessions, Augustine catalogs the ways that his restless heart sought out the ways and the things of the world – which can be quite nice and pleasurable as Augustine knew very well, and as we all know.

And, yet.

And, yet – the ways and things of the world just didn’t satisfy Augustine, and, if we’re honest with ourselves, the ways and things of the world – as nice and as pleasurable as they may be – don’t fully satisfy us, either.

Our brains may or may not be wired for math, but our hearts – all of our hearts – are shaped for God’s love – God’s love for us, a love that is as over-the-top as the love we heard in today’s snippet from the love poetry we call the Song of Solomon.

And so, in Jesus’ order of operations, we must begin on the inside.

We begin with the simple ritual of just inviting God to make a home in our restless hearts – which have been made by God, for God.

It’s an invitation that God will definitely accept.

  And, over time, as we keep on inviting, and God keeps on accepting, God’s presence will grow in our hearts, taking up more and more space, and leaving less and less space for the ugly stuff that we all carry inside of us.

And, as God takes up more space in our hearts, not only will we be less likely to tumble into sin, but we will have the grace and courage to make the kinds of sacrifice that God desires way more than hand washing: care for the poor, welcoming the stranger, and liberating the captive.

So, there’s no time to waste.

Let’s begin.

Let’s begin on the inside, inviting God into our restless hearts.

Amen.

Where God Dwells

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 24, 2021

Year B, Proper 16: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 8:1,6, 10-11, 22-30, 41-43

Psalm 84

Ephesians 6:10-20

John 6:56-69

Where God Dwells

I grew up in the Roman Catholic Church, and although I certainly take issue with some Catholic teachings and practices, for the most part I’m very grateful for the firm faith foundation I received over all those years of going to Mass and attending parochial schools.

But, when I went to seminary to prepare for ordination, I really hadn’t been an Episcopalian for very long, and the truth is that my Catholic background left me with some weak spots.

One of those weaknesses was music.

Growing up, I heard some very simple hymns in church – in my memory we sang the same five or six hymns over and over, and I guess I must have tried to sing at least some of them. But, I was never in a choir and I absolutely had never sung a solo in church.

That just seemed beyond the realm of possibility.

But, in seminary I was surrounded by many classmates who had sung in church choirs forever – they sounded like angels – and then there was me, croaking out the hymns, drawing more than a few sideways glances in chapel.

In our first year each of us had to audition for the music professor – David Hurd, a brilliant musician, composer of numerous pieces that are in our hymnal.

I worried about this for weeks, and when the dreaded day arrived, I remember standing in the hall outside the classroom where one by one classmates went in and sang. They all sounded impossibly great.

By the time my turn arrived, I was so worked up that felt like I was going to pass out.

Professor Hurd handed me a hymnal and said, “We’ll sing your favorite hymn.”

In my moment of terror, I froze. I could not think of what my favorite hymn might be and so as I looked around nervously, he said. 

“If you don’t pick something, we’ll sing Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!”

I said that’s fine, let’s do that.

And so he started playing the piano and I started “singing.”

I think got as far as “glory to the newborn king” when Professor Hurd stopped playing, started waving his hands and said, “Stop. We have a problem here.”

I thought, “Please let me wake up from this nightmare.”

He had thought that I might be tone deaf, but after a few exercises he realized that I was just really bad – which doesn’t sound like good news, but came as a relief.

Anyway, he worked with me for months, getting me to chant well enough so that parishioners wouldn’t be running for the exits.

Another weakness – a more serious one – was I didn’t know as much Scripture as some others. I mean, I had been going to church most of my life so I was familiar with the big stories, but I quickly realized there was much of the Bible – especially the Old Testament – that I simply did not know. So, I tried to take as many Bible classes as I could to catch up.

When it came to the Old Testament, back then I was like a lot of Christians in thinking that it was pretty much just a bunch of mostly irrelevant laws, along with stories that seemed fantastical and had no bearing on life today.

And, like a lot of Christians, past and present, I wasn’t sure about the so-called “God of the Old Testament,” a God who seemed to be angry and even bloodthirsty, a God who was tribal, delighting in the defeat of Israel’s enemies. Based on the little I knew, this God didn’t look and sound much like the loving God of Jesus.

But, as I’ve learned more, I’ve come to cherish the Old Testament – the colorful stories, yes, but most of all the real “God of the Old Testament” – the God who called Israel and calls us to care for the poor and the strangers, to forgive debts – the God who calls us to be a light to the nations.

And, another thing I love about the Old Testament is that, unlike most nations past or present, Israel is so self-critical. Over and over, the Old Testament writers and the prophets highlight the failings of their own people – their faithlessness and idolatry – as well as the flaws and misdeeds of their leaders, very much including King David, who we’ve been hearing about over the past month.

And, the Old Testament writers and prophets are especially self-critical when it comes to the Jerusalem Temple, the dedication of which we heard in today’s lesson from First Kings.

It’s Solomon who built the Temple, but earlier, King David had proposed building a temple for God. To his credit, David had realized that there was something wrong with him living in a beautiful palace made of precious cedar while the Ark of the Covenant dwelled in a tent.

(The Ark was a wooden chest containing the stone tablets given to Moses – it was understood to be, in a sense, God’s presence.)

But, God declines David’s offer of a house. God points out that God has never lived in a house, that God has always been free and on the move.

God also rejects David’s offer because David has too much blood on his hands from all the wars he has waged.

Instead of David building a house for God, God turns the tables and promises to build David a house - not a house made of cedar, but a royal house, a dynasty that will reign forever.

But, now, as we heard today, during the reign of David’s more peaceful son Solomon, God goes along with the construction of a house – a very grand house, indeed.

The Ark of the Covenant will be placed in the Temple, which will become the center of Israel’s religious and cultural life for centuries.

But, even at this moment of great celebration – even during Solomon’s dedication prayer of the Temple – we hear some of that Old Testament self-critique that I mentioned.

In case people got carried away, and thought that somehow God could be contained by four walls, Solomon says:

“But, will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you.”

Then, Solomon simply asks God to watch over this house, to hear the prayers of those who gather in this place.

And, Solomon asks that this Temple might be a light shining to strangers, bringing them all to God.

The dedication of the Temple is a great moment in Israel’s history, but throughout the Old Testament period and beyond, there will be a lot of ambivalence about the Temple.

On the one hand, it was believed to be the holiest place on earth, the place where, in a sense, God actually dwelled.

It was the place where the people of Israel prayed and made the sacrifices that helped to keep their end of the covenant.

On the other hand, the prophets will often criticize the Temple and its priests and all the rituals, reminding the people that the kind of sacrifice God really desires is caring for the poor, welcoming the stranger, and setting captives free.

And, as you may remember, Jesus himself offers a most dramatic critique of the Temple, overturning the moneychanger’s tables, seemingly furious that his Father’s house – this house of prayer for all people - had been turned into a marketplace.

Now, we might be tempted to dismiss this very old story of the Temple as interesting, maybe, but ultimately irrelevant for our lives today. But, as the Word of God these old stories contain eternal truths that still speak to us, here and now.

You know, I’ve been deeply involved in the church for about twenty years, and during that time I have heard many of our leaders say that the church is the people, not the building.

I’ve heard our leaders say that we need to take the church – take ourselves – out into the world – that God doesn’t just live here inside our beautiful temple but God is out there, dwelling in places that don’t seem to be beautiful at all – think of the meanest streets in places like Jersey City or Baltimore.

And, over the years, we sometimes heard that message and sometimes we took it to heart and sometimes we really did bring the church out of our temple and into the world, shining God’s light into some very shadowy places, sharing God’s special love for the poor and the suffering.

And then the pandemic came along and shook up everything, forcing all of us out of our temple for a time. And, today as unfortunately we move back into the Orange Phase, the pandemic continues to shake us up. 

But, every crisis presents opportunities.

So, over the past few weeks, I’ve been having a series of meetings with leaders of various ministries here at St. Thomas’.

As we’ve talked, I have been so impressed by your creativity, dedication, generosity, and, most of all, your persistence. You have kept at it – kept serving the church – kept feeding the hungry – especially during these most difficult times.

And, what I’ve said to some of you I’ll say to everyone today:

Since the pandemic has shaken up everything, and since we are beginning a new chapter together, we now have the opportunity – the necessity, really – to look at everything we do with fresh eyes, and maybe even with a little Old Testament-style self-critique.

That can be hard, I know, but it can also be exciting to pray and to imagine and to plan for a church that that looks and sounds even more like what God has been dreaming about from the days of Solomon’s Temple to our beautiful temple today:

A church that shines even more of God’s light into the world.

A church that sings – don’t worry, it doesn’t matter at all if we’re tone deaf or just really bad – a church that sings beautiful songs out there – out there in our broken and suffering world, the world where God is waiting for us.

        Amen.

The Gift of Wisdom

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 15, 2021

Year B: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

1 Kings 2:10-12; 3:3-14

Psalm 111

Ephesians 5:15-20

John 6:51-58

The Gift of Wisdom

When I was first ordained, one of the new things I had to get used to was the priest uniform.

When I am out and about in my black shirt and white collar, it’s kind of like I’m wearing a sign that reads “Professional Christian.”

And, as you’d guess, people respond to that in all sorts of ways.

Sometimes people will just give me a second look, or the side-eye.

Other times I’ll get a smirk or an eye roll.

And, occasionally my uniform will encourage people to approach me.

Sometimes these encounters are profoundly meaningful and beautiful, like when total strangers will tell me about their hardest struggles or most cherished hopes, and ask me to remember them in my prayers, or sometimes they ask me to pray for them or to give them a blessing, right then and there on the sidewalk or in a store.

What a privilege, right?

But, other times, these encounters can be unsettling, like when an unbalanced person latches on to me, going on and on about their peculiar beliefs or even delusions.

Anyway, being approached by strangers is part of my job, and by now I’m pretty used to it.

I assumed things would be about the same here in Owings Mills. But, actually, for the first couple of weeks when I wore my collar in restaurants or stores not a single person came up to me, or even seemed to recognize or acknowledge my uniform.

But then, last week I was in my usual lunch spot – Panera Bread – waiting to pick up my order, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a young man making a beeline for me. He looked intense, buzzing with lots of energy, and so I braced myself.

“You a priest?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Catholic?”

“No.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m an Episcopal priest.”

That made no impression at all, but then he launched into a monologue about his “favorite angel,”  - you guessed it: Lucifer. He went on for quite a while offering a mix of things he had picked up from scripture and other stuff that he got from who knows where.

No surprise, everyone else at Panera gave us a wide berth.

And then he suddenly stopped the Lucifer talk. He looked at me and said:

“I’m descended from Ignatius of Loyola.”

Now, I think I have a pretty good poker face, but I must have had a look of surprise at this unexpected twist.

He nodded and went on to say that he hadn’t taken a DNA test or anything like that, but, yeah, he was a descendent of St. Ignatius.

With that, maybe satisfied that he finally got a reaction from me, he abruptly took off and left me to my lunch.

Now, thanks to the local university, you’re probably familiar with the name “Loyola,” but maybe you don’t know about Ignatius of Loyola, the 16th century founder of the Society of Jesus, the Roman Catholic religious order commonly known as the Jesuits, the order that founded Loyola Maryland, Georgetown, and many other schools, including my high school alma mater, St. Peter’s Prep.

That was where I first learned about Ignatius and I’ve been interested in him ever since – so you can understand that my Panera friend really threw me.

There’s a lot we could say about Ignatius but all I want to say for now is that he was deeply interested in spiritual discernment. In fact, along with the Jesuits, Ignatius’ greatest legacy is a book called The Spiritual Exercises. It’s a kind of manual that to this day many people still use to help them see God at work in their lives, to better discern God’s will for our lives.

I’ll come back to Ignatius, but now let’s turn to today’s Old Testament lesson.

If you’ve been here the past couple of weeks you know that we’ve been talking about King David and his super-dysfunctional family.

In today’s lesson we fast-forward to the end of David’s life and the succession of his son, Solomon. You won’t be surprised to know that this was not exactly a smooth transfer of power but, nevertheless, Solomon is now king.

In today’s lesson, we hear about Solomon’s dream in which the Lord says to the new and inexperienced king, “Ask what I should give you.”

That’s quite an open-ended invitation, but to his credit, Solomon doesn’t ask for all the material things that a lesser person might want. Instead, he’s well aware of the awesome responsibility that has been placed on his shoulders – and not feeling qualified or ready, Solomon asks for an “understanding mind” – actually the original Hebrew can also be translated as a “listening heart.”

If you think about it, all of these terms – discernment, an understanding mind, a listening heart – are all different ways of saying the same thing – it’s what Solomon is forever most associated with: wisdom.

Even as a young king, Solomon is already wise enough to know what he doesn’t know, wise enough to know what he really needs: wisdom.

And, we’re told that God is so pleased by this request that not only does Solomon receive the gift of wisdom, but God also throws in riches and honor and long life.

The gift of wisdom.

These days, we don’t hear too much about wisdom, do we?

In fact, wisdom sounds almost old-fashioned and out of reach. I mean, when it comes to our leaders, forget about wisdom, most of us would be happy with just basic competence and human decency, right?

But, I don’t need to tell you that today we are beset with many problems and challenges – including the resurging pandemic, catastrophic climate change, the disintegration of Afghanistan after the sacrifice of so much blood and treasure, and a wobbly republic here at home, and the list goes on.

So, it seems to me that our leaders and all of us need to quickly rediscover wisdom – like Solomon and Ignatius and so many others in the past, we need to pray for the gift of wisdom.

You know, when our earliest Christian ancestors first began reflecting on Jesus – who he was and what his life, death, and resurrection mean for the world – they concluded that not only was Jesus a teacher of wisdom, but, in fact Jesus is the wisdom of God.

Jesus is the Gift of the Wisdom.

And, in today’s gospel lesson Jesus the Gift of Wisdom says, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

Obviously, this is in part a throwback to the manna given to the Israelites in the wilderness and it’s also looking ahead to Holy Communion, the Bread of Life that we receive here.

But, it’s more than that. Eating the living bread of Jesus is not just something we do once a week. No, eating the living bread of Jesus is patterning our lives as best we can on Jesus – and when we do that – when we grow as close as we can to Jesus – when we allow Jesus to grow close to us – well, since Jesus is the gift of wisdom, then we ourselves will receive the gift of wisdom.

And, to know what that might look like, let’s return just for a minute to Ignatius of Loyola.

He was a Basque, born into minor nobility in northern Spain. As a young man, like most of the young men of his time, place, and class, he was caught up in the dreams and vanity of chivalry – to be a knight – to court beautiful women (I’m not sure if he has descendants among us, but who knows?), and, most of all, Ignatius wanted to gain military glory.

But, Ignatius was severely wounded in battle and during his long and painful convalescence, as he read the Bible and a book about the saints, God began to convert his interests from worldly glory to giving glory to God.

Ignatius began to pattern his life after Jesus – giving and not counting the cost – gathering other likeminded people around him - and helping many discern God’s will, and receive the gift of wisdom.

And now, today, before it’s too late, we need to rediscover wisdom - we need to pray for the gift of wisdom, for understanding minds and listening hearts.

And, since Jesus is the gift of wisdom, that means we need to pattern our lives on Jesus – loving our neighbors, all of them, including the people we may not like or even trust – giving away our lives in loving service to the many people all around us who are hungry for the Good Bread, bread that’s way more satisfying than what’s for sale at Panera.

In a long ago dream, God said to Solomon, “Ask what I should give you.”

Now, today, in our time of trouble, God is making the same offer to us.

Like Solomon and Ignatius, may we ask God for the gift of wisdom.

Amen.

Praying for a Good Appetite

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 8, 2021

Year B, Proper 14: The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33

Psalm 130

Ephesians 4:25-5:2

John 6:35, 41-51

Praying for a Good Appetite

And, just like that, it’s our third Sunday together!

You’ll be glad to know that each week, I’m learning my way around a little better, using the GPS a little bit less.

Each week, I’m learning a few more names – still forgetting and messing up, yes, but I’ll get there.

And, each week I’m beginning to do a little bit more ministry – visiting with people, setting up times to talk with ministry leaders – reflecting on what we’re already doing and what we might take on.

And, I’ve been trying to raise our church’s profile on…Facebook.

I don’t know what you think about social media. As we’ve all seen, at its worst, it can certainly be quite divisive and destructive. On the other hand, it allows us to easily keep in touch with lots of people. And, whether we like it or not, whether we use it or not, the reality is that the church needs to have a strong social media presence – to let people out there know what’s going on in here.

I don’t remember why I started doing this, but about ten years ago I began posting on my own Facebook page a kind of daily devotional – a prayer, or a piece of Scripture, or a quote from a holy man or woman, usually accompanied by a photo.

Some people seem to like these posts so I’ve kept at it all these years. And, the truth is that over time creating these daily devotionals has become an important spiritual practice for me.

Usually, I don’t plan them out. Instead, I get up early in the morning and review the readings of the day, and check out the saint of the day. And I also look at who died on that day in history since, traditionally the church honors people on the day of their death, the day they entered new life.

Maybe this sounds strange or even morbid, but this practice has been a kind of continuing ed., helping me learn about lots of people I wouldn’t otherwise have known.

Anyway, this past Tuesday was the death anniversary of the 20th century writer Flannery O’Connor. 

Maybe some of you are familiar with some of her work.

And, as some of you saw, for my Facebook devotional post that day I used a quote that I really love from O’Connor’s spiritual journal that was first published just a few years ago.

A young Flannery O’Connor wrote, “God is feeding me and what I’m praying for is an appetite.”

“God is feeding me and what I’m praying for is an appetite.”

When I read that quote this time around, I thought about what Jesus has been teaching us these past couple of weeks – about spiritual hunger and the food that endures.

In today’s gospel lesson, we pick up right where we left off last week. To the crowd that had feasted on all that bread and fish and who had come searching for more, Jesus says: 

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in my will never be thirsty.”

But, as Flannery O’Connor understood, the question for us is: do we have an appetite for what God wants to feed us?

Or, to put it another way: Do we have a “good” appetite?

We certainly don’t have to look far to find examples of “bad” appetites, right? All we have to do is turn on the news to find endless examples of celebrities and politicians so hungry for fame, pleasure, fortune, and power that they are willing to do just about anything, no matter who gets hurt. And yet, somehow, even when they achieve fame, pleasure, fortune, and power it just never satisfies – it all turns out to be spiritually empty calories.

And maybe we can look into our own lives and hearts and remember times when our bad appetites got the better of us, causing much pain and suffering for ourselves and others.

And, we can definitely look at the Bible and find plenty examples of people’s bad appetites wreaking havoc.

If you were here last week, you may remember that we talked about the story of David and Bathsheba – a profoundly disturbing tale of King David’s bad appetites leading him down the grim path of sin.

Despite everything, God will never let go of David – which is very good news for him and for us - but there will be consequences for David and his family. You may remember that last week we heard the Prophet Nathan predict that the Lord would “raise up trouble” against David from within his own house.

And now in today’s lesson we heard that grim prophecy fulfilled in the person of one of David’s sons, Absalom.

You may have noticed that todays lesson from Second Samuel is kind of choppy – so I’ll try to fill in the blanks without overwhelming you with detail.

So, David had many wives as well as concubines and there were lots of children, lots of half-brothers and sisters. And, David’s family, if you can even call it that, was often an ugly mess.

And there’s nothing uglier than this: one of David’s sons, Absalom, killed another one of David’s sons, Amnon, because Amnon had violated their sister, Tamar.

And because Tamar had been so terribly abused, Absalom thought that their father David would back Absalom’s action, but that’s not what happened. Despite his awful crime, David had a soft spot for his firstborn son Amnon, and mourns his death. So, the angry, but also quite popular, Absalom rebels against his father, beginning a civil war not just in his family, but in Israel itself.

In today’s lesson we hear the grim conclusion of this civil war when David’s son Absalom was killed by David’s own men. This wasn’t what David had wanted – in fact, he had expressly forbidden it – but, you know, often we can’t control the consequences of giving into our bad appetites.

And so, we see just how far David has fallen.

He was a king who simply took what – who – he wanted – a king who engineered the death of the loyal Uriah the Hittite so he could have what and who he wanted.

And now, David is still a king, yes, but he’s a broken man whose son had turned against him, and now that son was dead, closing the door to any hope of reconciliation.

We’re left with the haunting image of a grieving David crying out, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

It’s quite a tragic story, isn’t it?

And, although our lives are surely nowhere near as dramatic as David and his family, the question remains:

Do we have an appetite for what God wants to feed us?

Do we have a good appetite?

Well, now that it’s my third Sunday with you, let me tell you what I really think.

You know, the people at our church and neighborhood back in Jersey City were very surprised when I announced that I was leaving home and coming down to be here with all of you.

And, I have to say I was – and still am – a little surprised, too!

And, I wouldn’t have put it quite this way at the time, but what drew me to you – or better, how God drew me to you – was that I could see that this church has a good appetite.

I could see your good appetite when I read the parish portfolio and watched your wonderful videos.

I could see your good appetite when I met with the Search Committee and heard and saw your eagerness to begin a new chapter, to get moving again.

I saw your good appetite to welcome even more hungry people to our church, and to be of even greater service to the many hungry people all around us.

And, I saw your good appetite when at the terrifying start of the pandemic, when everything seemed to be falling apart and so many items – very much including face masks - were in short supply, you hung all those masks on our doors, free for any of our neighbors who needed them.

That simple, beautiful act told me so much about your good appetite. 

And, now, here we are – our third Sunday together.

In the intimacy of her spiritual journal, Flannery O’Connor wrote, “God is feeding me and what I’m praying for is an appetite.”

And God is surely feeding us – feeding us with community.

God is feeding us with one another, with the deep roots of people whose families have been here for many generations and people who are about as new to this community as Sue and I are.

God is feeding us with the beauty of this extraordinary place – maybe you saw the pictures I posted on Facebook the other day of butterflies feasting and dancing in our pollinator garden

God is surely feeding us – feeding us most of all with Jesus – with the food and drink that truly satisfies.

But, as always, God leaves us with the choice:

Do we have an appetite for what God wants to feed us?

So, with our sister Flannery, let’s pray for a good appetite.

Amen.

Faith is Trust

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 1, 2021

Year B, Proper 13: The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

2 Samuel 11:26-12:13a

Psalm 51:1-13

Ephesians 4:1-16

John 6:24-35

Faith is Trust 

On the church calendar, this Friday is the Feast of the Transfiguration.

Maybe you remember the story.

One day, Jesus and what’s sometimes called his “inner circle” of disciples – Peter, James, and John – went up a mountain to pray.

Suddenly, Jesus’ clothes were transformed into a dazzling white and he was joined by two of the key figures of Israel’s past – Moses and Elijah.

Of course, the disciples were stunned by what they were seeing during this extraordinary “mountaintop experience!” 

And reasonably enough, Peter never wants to leave this place. He proposes building booths for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, hoping to hold onto this spiritual high for as long as he can.

But, almost as soon as Peter got the words out of his mouth, the scene became even more amazing – a cloud overshadowed them all, and the voice of God said:

“This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!”

And then, just as suddenly, the cloud and Moses and Elijah vanished, leaving just Jesus and his friends, who now had to go back down the mountain and continue their journey.

The Transfiguration is one of my favorite New Testament stories.

I love the wonder of it – and how it seems to be a kind of sneak preview of Easter, when the barriers between death and new life are broken down forever.

And, I also like the story because I can relate to Peter’s desire to hold on to this mountaintop experience, to not come down from this spiritual high.

Now, I don’t want to exaggerate but, you know, last Sunday here at St. Thomas’ felt a bit like the Transfiguration to me.

It was a spiritual high to meet so many parishioners, with all of you walking up to the church with looks of expectation and joy, and all of you offering Sue and me an incredibly warm welcome.

It was a mountaintop experience to look out at a pretty full church – on a Sunday in July!

It was a spiritual high to hear Wanda and our choir make so much gorgeous music, and, later, to gather with many of you under the hot Baltimore sun, where I was given an autographed Jim Palmer jersey AND a one of a kind St. Thomas jersey. AND, amazingly enough, both Palmer and I are #22! 

Well, I mean, come on. You can understand that like Peter on the mountain, I just didn’t want the day to end.

But, apparently you all had other things to do, and so Sue and I made our way down the mountain, and I spent much of the afternoon on the phone, filling in my parents and friends on all that I had seen and heard.

Mountaintop experiences.

Spiritual highs.

In church last week, we heard the story of the Feeding of the Five Thousand – the “loaves and fishes” – when Jesus and his friends are able to transform five loaves and two fish into enough food for everybody – more than enough, actually, since there were twelve baskets of leftovers.

And now in today’s gospel lesson, we pick up right where we left off last week.

It’s the next day, and the crowd has slept off all that delicious bread and fish, and maybe their stomachs are beginning to growl for more of that good food – and, maybe, like Peter on the mountain and me here last week at St. Thomas’ – they just don’t want this mountaintop experience to end.

Anyway, we’re told they get in their boats and go searching for Jesus.

When they find him, they ask a question that seems like a non sequitur: “Rabbi, when did you come here?”

Jesus, in his usual Jesus way, ignores their irrelevant question and instead accuses the crowd of just wanting more of that good bread. 

That sounds a little harsh to me. I mean, yes, I’m sure they wanted more of that bread – and some of that fish, too, Jesus, if you have it – but I have to believe that what they wanted most of all is more Jesus. After all, any teacher or prophet who could manage to feed five thousand people on five loaves and two fish is worth spending more time with, right?

And then, again in his usual Jesus way, Jesus changes the subject.

We suddenly move from loaves… to believing. 

Jesus switches the conversation from bread… to faith.

Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” 

It probably sounds strange to say this in church, but “faith” and “believing” are concepts that we often misunderstand.

Too often, we consider “faith” or “believing” as a “brain activity,” as agreeing to, or being convinced of, set of propositions.

“I believe this, OK I believe that, and, most of the time I believe the other thing.”

That’s part of faith, for sure, and we’ll do some of that “brain activity” when we say the creed in a few minutes – but that’s only part of faith - and not the most important part.

Faith is a matter of the heart.

Most of all, faith is trust.

Faith is trust.

Faith is placing our trust in God, the God who never lets go of us, no matter what we do or don’t do.

For example: King David.

In our Old Testament lesson last week and this week, we heard the famous story of David and Bathsheba.

King David is of course one of the great heroes of Israel’s history, but the Bible doesn’t shy away from showing his many disturbing character flaws.

Last week we heard that while he should have been leading his army into battle like any respectable king, David was back home in Jerusalem where one day he spotted Bathsheba, a married woman whom he found beautiful and took for himself.

That was more than bad enough, but then, in an act of terrible treachery, David arranged to get Bathsheba’s husband – the good and loyal Uriah the Hittite – killed in battle.

As we heard today, God is predictably displeased by David’s despicable behavior – and, as we’ll hear next week, there indeed will be consequences of this awful deed for David and his successors.

But, despite his treachery – despite his terrible sins - God doesn’t give up on – does not let go of  - David.

And, if God didn’t give up on sinful David, we can trust that God won’t give up on us, either.

Faith is trust.

And, that’s a lesson we’ve had to learn and relearn during the pandemic, right?

We all had to trust that Jesus and his friends would hold together the church during the long months of in-between time, the many weeks when we couldn’t see the way forward, all those Sundays when we were apart, denied even the Holy Communion that we receive here.

In the midst of a pandemic, we’ve had to learn or relearn that faith is trust – that God is not going to let go of us, no matter how scary the world may look, no matter if disease is on the loose, no matter if the institutions we’ve always counted on suddenly seem fragile and vulnerable.

But, God didn’t let go of David - and God won’t let go of us, either. 

No matter what. 

And, I believe that God gives us the occasional mountaintop experience – falling in love, looking into the eyes of a child or grandchild for the first time, the satisfaction of a job well done, witnessing the beauty of a sunrise or a sunset, enjoying the simple pleasure of holding the hand of one we love, and, yes, receiving an autographed Jim Palmer jersey from a loving and welcoming church – God gives us occasional mountaintop experiences as a kind of booster, a way to strengthen our trust during the inevitable times when we are nowhere near the mountaintop, when life looks bleak indeed.

So last week, the crowd had a kind of mountaintop experience when somehow the blessing of Jesus transformed five loaves and two fish into an overflowing abundance.

And, last week I had my own spiritual high – and maybe you did, too – as we began our exciting new chapter together.

  But, like Peter, James, and John, we can’t stay up on the mountain forever.

No doubt, there will be a lot of ordinary days and some really hard days ahead, but, like the disciples and the crowd, we have our mountaintop memories, and, most of all, we have Jesus the Bread of Life, giving us all the strength we need.

Faith is trust.

Amen.