Early Christmas

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2022

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

Early Christmas

Well, Merry Christmas, everyone!

We’re here to remember and celebrate an event that took place in a particular time and place, back two thousand years ago, when a great headcount was ordered that forced many people to leave their homes, including Joseph and Mary, who, in the midst of many challenges, were about to bring new life into the world.

Think about Mary and Joseph, traveling among so many displaced people, all at the mercy of the powers that be.

Think about righteous Joseph, probably still bewildered by God’s big ask: that he stay by Mary’s side and love and protect her and her holy child.

Think about faithful Mary, pondering all God has asked her to do, carrying God into the world, giving birth to the Holy Child who would change everything.

Think about both of them, far from home, far from the women of Mary’s family who would have midwifed the child – think about both of them unable to provide adequate shelter for the newborn child, placing him in a manger, a fancy word we use to dress up a feeding trough used by animals – definitely inappropriate for a baby, but giving us a hint that Jesus will be Food for the world.

Think about Joseph and Mary, who, like all parents, were making a lifelong commitment, swearing a promise that will last long after the angels returned to heaven and the shepherds went back to their fields.

We are here to remember and celebrate an event that took place in a particular time and place: when Jesus the Son of God was born through and among a couple of nobodies far from home, born into a world that didn’t seem to have much room for God.

You know, one of the great joys of being the rector of St. Thomas’ is that there are so many people – generous and talented parishioners along with our hardworking and devoted staff – so many people who put in so much time and effort and talent to make things happen here, week after week.

And, as you would guess and can surely tell, these people have been in overdrive during the past couple of weeks, and especially the last few days – making it well worth our while to brave arctic temperatures to be here tonight.

They’ve been using their talent, creativity, and even employing some daredevil-like feats to decorate our church so spectacularly (I mean, come on, look at this place!).

They’ve been rehearsing all of the beautiful Christmas music that we love so much. 

They’ve been creating, copying, and folding a mountain of bulletins.

They’ve been making sure that everyone is scheduled and ready play their part in our service.

It’s been just amazing.

But, you know, even with all of this generous help and incredible talent, I don’t feel quite ready for Christmas! It still feels to me like Christmas has arrived a little early, before we were quite ready for it.

Maybe it’s just me. But judging by how, over the last few days, I’ve seen people driving like maniacs on the roads and in parking lots – it would seem that lots of people don’t feel fully prepared, that, somehow, though it falls on the same date every year, we are having an “early Christmas.”

I’ve heard plenty of people kicking themselves for not being more on top of things, but maybe, just maybe, God is trying to tell us something through the “earliness” of Christmas.

Maybe God is telling us that, while preparation is definitely a good thing, the truth is we can’t ever be fully ready for God’s arrival into the world.

All we can do is stick together, like Mary and Joseph.

All we can do is offer the best we can, even if it doesn’t seem like much, certainly not enough.

All we can do is trust that God will give us the strength and grace we need to keep our promises. 

Because, here’s the thing: while today we are remembering and celebrating an event that occurred in a particular time and place, the truth is that, ready or not, “early Christmas” happens all the time.

God breaks into our world all the time – inviting us to especially welcome Christ in the stranger - the stranger who has little or nothing and looks to us for love and care.

Now, if you’ve been around St. Thomas’ over the past few months, you already know where I’m going with this.

If not, you should know that over the past few months we have welcomed and sponsored two young men from Afghanistan – Hizbullah and Abdul.

After a long and arduous journey, these two strangers came to us with almost nothing, trusting that we would make room for them and care for them.

I’m not sure if they were bold enough to hope that we would love them, but that is exactly what has happened.

And so, whether we were ready or not, it feels to me like we had an early Christmas this year here at St. Thomas’.

God has once again arrived in an unexpected place place, through and among displaced people, who, in the eyes of the world, would seem to be nobodies.

And, while I don’t know what I’ll find under the tree tonight, I think I already received my most meaningful Christmas gift a couple of months ago, when a few of us were over at the house where our Afghan guests live. Hizbullah offered us tea. But this wasn’t just any tea. It was fragrant tea made using saffron, the precious spice that was one of the few items that Hizbullah was able to carry all the way from Afghanistan. And he wanted nothing better than to share his treasure with us.

Merry early Christmas.

And so, thanks to a lot of amazing people, this evening we are having a glorious celebration of Jesus’ birth.

And in the days ahead, let’s keep our eyes and ears and most of all our hearts open, because God is sure to keep on appearing in the most unexpected places and among the humblest of people.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Amen.

Shining Jesus’ Warm Light of Love Into Our Cold World

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2022

Christmas Eve (5PM)

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

Shining Jesus’ Warm Light of Love Into Our Cold World

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

You know, one of the great joys of being the rector of St. Thomas’ is that there are so many people – generous and talented parishioners along with our hardworking and devoted staff – so many people who put in so much time and effort and talent to make things happen here, week after week.

And, as you would guess and can surely tell, these people have been in overdrive during the past couple of weeks, and especially the last few days – making it well worth our while to brave arctic temperatures to be here tonight.

They’ve been using their talent, creativity, and even employing some daredevil-like feats to decorate our church so spectacularly (I mean, come on, look at this place!).

They’ve been rehearsing all of the beautiful Christmas music that we love so much. 

They’ve been creating, copying, and folding a mountain of bulletins.

They’ve been making sure that the children who are about to offer us their “Christmas Tableau” are ready play their important part in our service.

It’s been just amazing.

Thanks to all of this hard work, I have no doubt that we are making some wonderful memories here today.

Having said that, I’m pretty sure that what I will remember most about this particular Christmas is…just how cold it’s been!

I can’t remember the last time I was this cold!

Lots of us lost power yesterday, some for a short while and some for, well, a longer time.

So, a couple of things about such a cold Christmas.

First, such bitter cold can help us feel closer to the people who endure the cold all the time: people who have to work outside and people who don’t have homes of their own.

This year, I think especially of the brave Ukrainian people enduring the cold and so much suffering.

Which brings me to my second point.

No matter the temperature, the world can be a cold place.

People are often not as kind or as generous or as loving as they could be, as we should be.

So, I don’t know what the temperature was when Mary and Joseph made the long trip to Bethlehem, but how cold it was that this couple expecting the birth of Jesus had to travel so far from home, all because the government wanted to count heads.

I don’t know what the temperature was on the first Christmas, but how cold it was that no one offered Mary and Joseph a clean and comfortable place for themselves and for the newborn Jesus, forcing them to stay in a place meant for animals.

But, from the start, from the first Christmas, Jesus will shine the warm light of love into a cold world, always especially loving the people who were poor like the shepherds – loving the people who were lonely and frightened, the people that most other people didn’t like at all.

And Jesus still shines the warm light of love into our cold world – shines that warm light through us each time we give away something that we really like and value, each time we’re kind to people we don’t know, people who are different from us or even people we don’t like.

Jesus still shines the warm light of love into our cold world, in and through us, on Christmas Eve and all the time.

So, yes, it is cold out there – it’s really cold.

But, thanks to lots of hard work by some incredible people it’s so warm in here – do you feel how warm it is?

And so the best Christmas gift we can give is to shine Jesus’ warm light of love into our cold world.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Amen.

Joseph the Craftsman

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 18, 2022

Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 7:10-16

Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

Romans 1:1-7

Matthew 1:18-25

Joseph the Craftsman

Over the past couple of Sundays, we’ve been reintroduced to two of the central characters of Advent: John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary.

And now today, on the fourth and final Sunday of the season, we turn our attention to one last Advent character, the one who is most often overlooked and sometimes nearly forgotten: Joseph.

A big reason why Joseph is frequently neglected is that, although he plays an essential role in Jesus’ birth and early years, he does not say a single word in the gospels.

At least one person has described Joseph as “the Silent Man of Advent.”

Most of what we know about Joseph comes from the Gospel of Matthew.

Joseph is described as a descendant of King David, which sounds impressive, but, after so many centuries, the family’s wealth and power was long gone.

Joseph was engaged – or betrothed – to Mary.

Now, in our society today, an engagement is certainly a big deal – in fact, as you know, for some couples, the engagement party has become quite fancy and elaborate and expensive – but, despite all the hoopla, engagements are really just spoken promises between two people that can be broken relatively easily, though usually not without awkwardness, disappointment, and pain. 

But things were different in the world of Joseph and Mary.

Engagements were arranged by families, and were nearly as binding as marriage itself. One needed a very good reason to break off an engagement. 

Like, say, for example, your fiancée announces she’s pregnant and you know that you are not the father.

Even in our own much more laid back time, this situation would be humiliating, heartbreaking and potentially explosive. But for Joseph, well, I’m not sure that we can quite describe how this shocking news must have sent him reeling.

The people of Joseph’s time, and many people of our own time, would certainly understand if Joseph lashed out at Mary, if he publicly humiliated her, and left her in disgust and disgrace – a shame that would have stained not just Mary but her family, as well.

But, from the start, righteous Joseph chooses to simply “dismiss her quietly,” or at least as quietly as he could in a small town.

But God was not done with Joseph.

After an angel appeared to him in a dream, telling him that the unborn child is from the Holy Spirit and that this child was the long awaited savior, Joseph wakes up and, rather than just shaking it off as just a weird dream as we probably would, rather than thinking “you know, that was a really interesting dream but I’m still done with Mary,” instead of that, Joseph changes the course of his life – and the lives of Mary and Jesus – he changes the course of all of our lives – by swallowing his pride, by choosing to believe, and by remaining at Mary’s side and guarding her child.

Let’s not underestimate the cost of Joseph’s decision– the very high cost of Joseph’s faithfulness.

Yes, we all know the dramatic events that are about to unfold, the journey to Bethlehem and Jesus’ birth in totally inadequate circumstances, far from Mary’s people, far from the women who would have midwifed the Son of God into the world.

We know how Joseph and Mary and Jesus will be forced to flee into Egypt, on the run from King Herod, who was determined to kill the newborn king.

We know all those soon-to-occur big and definitely costly events.

But, actually, I’m thinking more about everyday life back in Nazareth, the years of Jesus’ childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood – the years we know almost nothing about.

What must that have been like for Joseph?

The people of small town Nazareth would have known that there was something, let’s say “irregular,” about Jesus’ paternity. There would have been plenty of rumors and much speculation about the boy’s “real father.” Maybe there would have been some grudging admiration for Joseph’s righteousness, I guess, but also more than a little snickering and eye rolling and winking, I bet.

That all must have been hard for Mary and for young Jesus, but it must have been particularly difficult Joseph.

So, let’s not underestimate the cost of Joseph’s silent decision– the very high cost of Joseph’s quiet faithfulness.

One of the things that most people know about Joseph is that he was a carpenter.

But, as is often the case, the truth turns out to be a little more complicated.

The Greek word we usually translate as “carpenter” – tekton – is probably better translated as “craftsman” – someone who worked with wood, yes, but also other materials like metal and stone.

Joseph the craftsman.

Over the last few days, I’ve sat with the image of Joseph the craftsman, a man who could take wood and metal and stone and and shape them into objects that were sturdy, useful, and maybe even beautiful.

And, as I thought about Joseph in his shop, quietly carving and chiseling, I realized that Joseph was not only a craftsman with wood and stone but he was also the craftsman of his own life. 

It would have been easy for Joseph to allow himself to simply be shaped by fear or anger or resentment or embarrassment.

It would have been understandable if Joseph allowed his life to be nailed down by the expectations of his time and place.

But, instead, with God’s help, Joseph crafted his own life - crafted a life of great faithfulness, extraordinary courage, and profound generosity.

You know, at first glance, Joseph seems like a very conventional person – a hardworking husband and dad who doesn’t say much – we know the type - but, in fact, he’s one of the most unusual and radical figures in the Bible.

Joseph the craftsman.

And Joseph’s life is a reminder that it is possible for all of us to craft our own lives – to craft our own lives to God’s glory and in loving service to God’s people.

Yes, there are many aspects of life we have little or no control over, like genetics for example.

Especially after coming here to St. Thomas' where I think we have a larger than average percentage of tall people, I would love to be a little taller – not a lot – I’d take two additional inches.

But, no matter our situations – no matter our height or our families or our economics or our age or even our health, God gives us the freedom – invites us – to craft our own lives.

Like Joseph we have the power to craft how we’ll respond when the unexpected happens, when our hearts are broken, when we can’t see the road ahead of us.

Some of our crafting happens alone in our own “shops” when we’re being prayerful and mindful, but much of our crafting happens when we are together, just like how Joseph and Mary and Jesus together crafted what we call the “Holy Family” which, when you stop and think about it, was the most non-traditional family of all time.

One of the most beautiful parts of being church is that we get to craft our lives together, choosing to uphold those who are struggling, overcoming fear to open our door to strangers from near and far, taking on new work that we’ve never done before and aren’t totally sure that we’re up to, digging deep inside our hearts and our wallets to be even more generous than we thought possible. 

Joseph was a craftsman of wood and stone but, more important, with God’s help, he crafted a beautiful life of love and faithfulness and generosity.

May Joseph be an inspiration for us as we continue to craft our lives, together.

Amen.

Yes, Mary Knew

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 11, 2022

Year A: The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 35:1-10

Canticle 15

James 5:7-10

Matthew 11:2-11

Yes, Mary Knew

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve had several conversations with parishioners who remember the days when Advent was a much more penitential season, more like Lent, more purple than blue, we might say.

Back in those days, Christmas decorations – including the tree – didn’t go up until Christmas Eve – unlike today when many people have had their tree up for so long that by a day or two after Christmas, it’s ready to go out the door.

Over time, Advent has lost much of its Lent-like feel, but it’s still there in the lessons we read and hear – Jesus’ vision of the last day when some will be taken and some will remain – and John the Baptist’s expectation that the Messiah would come with a winnowing fork, saving the wheat but burning the chaff into unquenchable flames.

And we get another reminder of Advent past today – on the Third Sunday of Advent – when we switch our liturgical color from blue to rose, signaling that this season of penance and preparation is almost over.

Rejoice! It is almost Christmas!

If you were here last week, you’ll remember that we were reintroduced to one of the main characters of Advent, John the Baptist – the prophet who prepared the way for Jesus, announcing that the Kingdom of God had drawn near.

John appeared in the wilderness, calling people to repent, to turn around, and offering to dunk them in the Jordan as a sign of their new life.

John was also unafraid to criticize people in positions of authority, like calling the Pharisees and Sadducees, “You brood of vipers!”

But, then as now, speaking truth to power can get you into big trouble. And in today’s gospel lesson we find John the Baptist a long way from baptizing the crowds who gathered at the Jordan. John has gotten on the wrong side of Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee at the time, and has landed in prison, facing a death sentence.

Earlier in the gospels, John had seemed to recognize Jesus’ identity – the way Luke tells the story – way earlier, even in his mother’s womb. But now, with his time running out, John seems to waver, sending some of his disciples to ask Jesus a hauntingly sad question, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

Let’s leave John there for the moment and turn our attention to another, even more central Advent character: the Virgin Mary.

We didn’t hear her name in today’s lessons but we did hear her words, or, more precisely, we heard her song, the Song of Mary, the Magnificat.

The setting is what’s called the Visitation. The pregnant Mary heads to the countryside to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who in her old age is also in the midst of a miraculous pregnancy, carrying John the Baptist.

When Mary appears, the unborn John leaps in his mother’s womb, and, in this moment of great rejoicing – the miracle of new life entering the world through these two women – Mary does what any sensible person would do, she sings:

“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…”

There is another, much newer, Mary song that some people like to sing and hear at Christmas. In fact, one of our parishioners has specifically requested it. It’s called, “Mary, Did You Know?”

“Mary, did you know that your baby boy would one day walk on water? Mary did you know that your baby boy would save our sons and daughters? Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new? This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you.”

“Mary, did you know?”

And, in case you’re wondering, the answer is - spoiler alert - “Yes, Mary knew.”

Mary knew that God was about to turn the world downside-up, because she knew that God had chosen her – not a princess in a grand palace – but God had chosen her, a peasant girl from the sticks, betrothed but not married, to carry God’s Holy Child into the world.

And we know that Mary knew that God was about to turn the world downside-up because we have her song. Mary sings of God “scattering the proud in their conceit, casting down the mighty from their thrones and lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich away empty.”

Yes, Mary knew.

Mary knew that, no matter what people say, the gospel is political, that casting down the mighty from their thrones will not be easy and will only come at great cost – great cost for John and Jesus, and for their mothers, and for so many holy people through the centuries.

But look, today Herod Antipas and Pontius Pilate and the other powerful men of that day are in history’s trashcan, remembered only for their cruel and bloody and futile attempts to imprison the Word of the Lord – and these leaders of the past should be stark warnings for the leaders of today who seek to enhance their power by hurting and killing others.

Yes, Mary knew.

And Mary knew that God turning the world downside-up was not just about overthrowing tyrants. It is a revolution of the spirit, a revolution that lifts up the poor and lowly – people just like Mary and her family in Nazareth – moving them from the edges of history to the heart of our story.

Now, all we have to do is turn on the news to know that this holy revolution is not yet complete, right? 

But this revolution of the spirit is well underway, including right here St. Thomas’.

Last week I had lunch with Hizbullah, our first friend from Afghanistan. Those of you who had the chance to be here a few of weeks ago for his presentation, or have met him elsewhere, know that he is a truly exceptional individual, certainly one of the finest people I’ve ever met.

But here’s the thing: we did not know any of that when we signed on to sponsor him and yet we still took the risk and made the commitment. And the same is true about our second Afghan guest, Abdul.

When I stop to think about it, I’m amazed.

And last Tuesday evening I finally attended my first Christmas Outreach Extravaganza. Everyone told me that this would knock my holiday socks off and they were right – the amount of time and work that went into planning and setting up and cooking and sorting and wrapping and cleaning up – it’s extraordinary.

And then there’s the giving. On top of the 180 Thanksgiving bags from just a couple of weeks ago, so many of you gave so much for the people at the Community Crisis Center, Paul’s Place, the House of Ruth, Owings Mills Elementary, and more.

Now some would look at all these people in need and say, you know, they’re not our problem – that their plight is their own fault - they should just get their act together, work harder, pull up their bootstraps and get on with it.

But not us. Because we have been formed by the revolution of the spirit, we don’t try to figure out who deserves what, we just give – we just give to people we don’t know and who will never be able thank us.

Finally, back to John the Baptist.

When John’s disciples ask Jesus if he’s the one, Jesus points to the work he’s been doing: restoring sight to the blind, cleansing lepers, opening the ears of the deaf, raising the dead, and bringing good news to the poor.

This may not have been the saving work that John had expected – there’s no winnowing fork in sight – but it is definitely the work that Mary had anticipated and had sung about with her cousin.

Yes, Mary knew.

So, rejoice! It’s almost Christmas!

And rejoice! Because God’s downside-up revolution of the spirit has begun!

Amen.

Jesus is the Light

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 4, 2022

Year A: The Second Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 11:1-10

Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19

Romans 15:4-13

Matthew 3:1-12

Jesus is the Light 

And, just like that, it’s already the Second Sunday of Advent.

And, as we do every year on this day, today we are reintroduced to one of the main characters of Advent: the powerful and challenging prophet, John the Baptist.

This year we hear Matthew’s telling of John’s message. Seemingly without warning or introduction, John the Baptist appears in the wilderness of Judea, calling on the people to “Repent, for the kingdom of God has come near.”

John must have been quite a sight, dressed in camel’s hair and a leather belt, reminding people of one of Israel’s most important historical figures, Elijah – no doubt getting people to wonder if maybe that long-ago prophet had finally returned.

We’re told that John didn’t eat any “processed” foods, just locusts and wild honey. John only ate what God provided for the taking.

So, yeah, John must have been quite a sight but then there was his message: his bold and insistent call for people to change their ways, and an offer to dunk them in the River Jordan as a way to symbolize their new life.

I don’t know about you but in my experience, most people do not want to hear that they’re heading in the wrong direction – not when they’re driving and certainly not when they are living their lives. Yet, that was John’s message – change your heart and mind, change your ways, turn around before it’s too late!

And the most amazing thing to me is that crowds of people came to see John and to hear John his message – throngs of people came to the Jordan to let God and John drown their old life and to begin anew.

Like other prophets before him, John had little use for the religious establishment – the people who it seems thought that their heritage or their office would somehow be enough to save them.

Now, as a card-carrying member of the religious establishment myself, John’s attitude makes me feel… uncomfortable.

And yet, the Pharisees and Sadducees, they come to John, too. Isn’t that something? These religious people come to John despite the insults he hurls at them – “You brood of vipers” – you family of deadly snakes!

Now, we don’t know exactly why members of the religious establishment show up – maybe they want to gain favor from the crowds of “ordinary” people – maybe they’re just curious about why John’s “church attendance” is so high.

Or maybe even these card-carrying members of the religious establishment knew deep down that they were heading the wrong way, that, with God’s help, they, like all of us, must change direction, must repent before it’s too late.

Over and over, John announced to the crowds, “Repent, for the kingdom of God has come near.”

And, of course, that will be Jesus’ proclamation, too.

“Repent, for the kingdom of God has come near.”

Since John was such a powerful and oddly attractive figure, there were people back in the first century who thought that he might be the long-awaited messiah.

We talked about that for a while at our Wednesday Bible Study and it was unanimous that we’re glad that it’s Jesus, not John, who is the messiah.

We resisted John’s name-calling. And we noted that John is not quite right in his predictions and expectations of the messiah.

Yes, Jesus will be our judge.

Yes, there will be consequences for our actions.

But throughout the gospels, Jesus’ judgment is always shaped by mercy.

There’s no winnowing fork to be found.

Jesus dines regularly with the wrong sorts of people – the prostitutes, the tax collectors, even the occasional Pharisee - the people John might have considered prime candidates to spend eternity burning in the unquenchable fire.

Jesus tells the finger-pointers that, unless they are without sin, they’d better drop their stones. And Jesus tells the sinner to simply go and sin no more.

And from the cross, Jesus even asks God the Father to forgive those who turned against him, who were mocking and killing him.

Jesus was not exactly the messiah that John had imagined and expected - and that is very good news indeed.

We only know a little about John the Baptist’s life and message but as I’ve sat with him during this past week, I’ve wondered about all those people who repented, and came to get dunked by him in the Jordan.

What happened to them?

Did anyone or anything sustain them in their new life, or did they eventually slide back to their same old ways?

And, it won’t shock you that as I’ve sat with John the Baptist this week, I’ve also reflected on… Baptism – which we do just a little differently than John!

One of my favorite parts of our Baptism service is the candle.

We light it from the Paschal Candle, symbolizing the Light of Christ, and hold it in front of the newly baptized - usually a young child.

No matter what’s happened so far – anything from screaming to snoozing – the candle always gets their attention.

I hold the candle before them and say:

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

Before I can get through all that, the child is usually reaching out for the candle, irresistibly drawn to the light.

That little candle is for the person just baptized but it’s also for all of us – it’s a reminder of our own Baptism – a reminder that we have been given the Light of Christ.

John warned of unquenchable fire but Jesus is the Light, guiding us as we make our way through the many challenges and troubles of our lives.

Jesus is the Light, calling us to repent and change our ways, yes, but also offering forgiveness when we inevitably stumble, get turned around, and need to start all over again.

Jesus is the Light, giving us hope – that even when the worst things happen we are not alone – we are never alone – and the God of hope will not let go of us, no matter what.

Jesus is the Light, inspiring us let our light shine – a light, which contrary to the song, is neither little nor really ours.

Jesus is the Light, inspiring us to shine our big light into an often shadowy world – inspiring us to open our doors to new friends from faraway lands, to sacrifice some of our money and time to help people in need have a nice Thanksgiving and Christmas, to reach out to the people we know are suffering, holding out our hands in friendship and love.

John was a great and powerful prophet, but Jesus is the Light.

So today, just like that, it’s the Second Sunday of Advent. 

We give thanks for John the Baptist, who prepared the way for Jesus, calling people to repent because the kingdom of God has come near.

But, most of all, today and every day we give thanks for Jesus – Jesus, the Light – the Light of the World.

Amen.

The Renewal of Hope Begins Around the Table

The Renewal of Hope Begins Around the Table

Advent, 2022

            At the heart of Holy Communion is the memory of a meal. Each week, we recall and reenact the story of how Jesus gathered with his closest friends for one last supper before his suffering and death. Jesus blessed the bread and the wine, saying that this is his body and blood, given and shed for us. Jesus promised to be with us each time we come to the table and remember him.

           The pandemic created a great hunger in us, a deep desire for what we may have previously taken for granted. It has been such a joy to return to the table, reuniting with people we have known forever and happily making room for those we have never met. It has been a great gift to hold out our hands - to feel again the slight weight of the wafer that carries Jesus into our bodies and our hearts. It has been a joy to again taste the wine that reminds us of how much God loves us. During the long months of separation, how we missed Holy Communion, what one of our youngest and wisest parishioners calls "Special Treat."

           I'm convinced that the renewal of St. Thomas', our renewal of hope, truly began when we reassembled at the holy table, retold the old story, and received the Body and Blood of Christ once again.

           And this renewal of hope is happening at a couple of other holy tables, too.

           Just as we missed Holy Communion, many of us also longed to spend time together in the Parish Hall after our Sunday services. If you have been around lately, you know that the easing of the pandemic has drawn an increasing number of parishioners to stick around for a cup of coffee, some delicious treats, and good conversation. Since I'm usually one of the last to arrive, I love walking into the hall and hearing the hum of people talking and laughing, sharing stories, catching up, and making new friends. Like everything else, this doesn’t just happen, so, many thanks to Jesse VanGeison for organizing our hosts, and to everyone who has provided us with such excellent hospitality.

           On a recent evening, a few of us shared a marvelous dinner at Gilead House in Pikesville, with some of the refugees who have found safe harbor there, including Hizbullah, the Afghan man who, as you know, has been co-sponsored by St. Thomas'. Despite cultural and language differences, the conversation and the laughter flowed, and our bonds of friendship and respect grew even stronger.

           At the end of the meal, Hizbullah prepared tea for us, using saffron that he had carried with him on his long journey from Afghanistan. As I observed him pour the steaming and wonderfully fragrant tea into cups and then pass them around to all of us, I had to blink tears out of my eyes. It was like a New Testament story had suddenly come to life in front of us. I could almost hear Jesus saying, "The Kingdom of God is like a man forced to flee his homeland, losing nearly everything but managing to keep a small amount of expensive saffron. But rather than holding onto this precious taste of home, he is delighted to share it with his new friends."

There was a sequel to this parable a few days later when many parishioners filled the Parish Hall to hear a mesmerizing presentation by Hizbullah. After this impressive young man shared his gripping his story with us, we were served a delicious Afghan-style feast, prepared by a hardworking and talented team, led by Frances Rockwell. I went home that afternoon feeling full, both in body and spirit. 

           The holy season of Advent marks the start of a new church year. My prayer for this fresh start is that, with God's help, even more of us will gather together, in church, in the hall, and out in the community, receiving and sharing God's love.

The renewal of hope begins around the table.

"Come, Let Us Walk in the Light of the Lord!"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 27, 2022

Year A: The First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm 122

Romans 13:1—14

Matthew 24:36-44

“Come, Let Us Walk in the Light of the Lord!”

You may remember that about a month ago I spent a week on a silent retreat at a monastery in Kentucky, a place called the Abbey of Gethsemani.

Parishioners have reacted to this piece of news in different ways.

Some people like the idea. Some have even been a little envious, saying something like “Oh that sounds like heaven. I wish I could get away for a few days of peace and quiet.”

Others shake their heads – nope, nope - and say something like, “There’s no way I could stay quiet for that long.”

And others have looked at me kind of skeptically and asked what exactly did you do with all that quiet time?

Well, in case you’re wondering, I prayed a lot – both on my own and in church with the monks and the other guests – and I did a lot of reading. I got to bed earlier than usual. And, fortunately, since the weather was beautiful, I walked a lot on long and meandering trails throughout the abbey’s vast grounds.

Almost everything I saw on those walks was so beautiful – the fall foliage glowing orange and gold, birds fluttering away as I approached, the occasional cross or religious statue.

But these walks were a little unsettling, too.

The abbey is pretty remote so I often didn’t have cellphone service, and I almost never saw anyone else on the trails.

As I walked, it crossed my mind that I didn’t know any of the other guests, and nobody took attendance at meals, and nobody would check that I was back in my room at night. 

Along the way, I did have to step around evidence left behind by wild animals – just what kind of wild animals, I wasn’t sure. And, maybe because as a kid I watched too many Saturday morning cartoons, I can never remember what you’re supposed to do when you encounter a bear – is it run, stand still, play dead, or take off in a zigzag?

It dawned on me that I was about as alone as I’ve ever been, and that if something happened to middle-aged me, it might be a while before anyone knew about it and was able to get me help.

Well, obviously, everything turned out just fine but those long walks were a reminder of what’s always true as we journey through of life.

So much of our journey is beautiful but along the way there is always danger and often much suffering.

Of course, you don’t have to spend a silent week at a monastery to be reminded about that!

Recently we’ve had some terrible reminders of the world’s brokenness and just how much suffering there is all around us.

Our parish has some strong and deep connections with the University of Virginia, so many of us were especially shocked and heartbroken a couple of weeks ago when a UVA student senselessly shot three of his fellow students, talented athletes with bright smiles and brighter futures, young men who loved and were loved.

And last week, yet another messed up, angry, armed-to-the-teeth man, who had probably been fed a rotten diet of ignorance, fear, and hate, walked into Club Q, a bar and nightclub that had been seen as one of the few safe places in Colorado Springs for LGBTQ people and their friends. This man opened fire, killing five people, people who worked there and people who were there just to relax and enjoy themselves - to be themselves.

And not long after that, the close-knit night shift workers at the Walmart in Chesapeake, Virginia, was shattered when one of their own turned violent, killing six of his coworkers before taking his own life.

And we can’t lose sight of the relentless violence and suffering in the city just down the road from us, enduring yet another year with more than 300 homicides.

So much suffering.

And, in a way, even our Thanksgiving meal bags are a reminder of suffering. 

It is simply amazing to me that we donated 180 bags, heavy bags filled to the brim with food and fixings and treats! Last Monday a small group of parishioners loaded all those heavy bags into their cars and trucks and brought them over to the Community Crisis Center.

Here’s the thing, though: by the end of the day, all but 10 of those bags had been distributed to hungry people – a sobering reminder of the great need that’s all around us.

Much of our journey is beautiful but there is always danger, and often much suffering.

And we have a hard time seeing our destination.

As Gethsemani’s most famous monk, Thomas Merton once wrote,

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.”

Today is all about beginnings and endings. 

It’s the start of a new church year, the First Sunday of Advent. 

And during these four quick Advent Sundays, we prepare for the birth of Jesus, born far from home and in the humblest of circumstances.

And we also look ahead to the end of time – ahead to our ultimate destination – ahead to the day of judgment.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus reminds us that we do not know when we will reach our destination. He warns us that it will be sudden and unexpected – even Jesus doesn’t know the exact date and time! So we’d better pay attention and be prepared.

Although the schedule is a mystery, the Prophet Isaiah does give us some idea of where we are headed.

In today’s first lesson, Isaiah offers a powerful vision, foreseeing a time and place when and where God will draw all the peoples of the world to God’s holy mountain.

There, we will learn together.

There, we will walk beside one another.

There, God will be our judge.

There, we will bend our tools of death into tools of new life.

There, we will set aside hate.

And Isaiah concludes by extending a most beautiful invitation:

“Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!”

Since I keep talking about it, you can probably tell that I really enjoyed my silent retreat. And, although I was mindful that things could go wrong, I loved my long walks up and down the hills.

I’m grateful to have had that time away but, you know, as good as it was, it really can’t compare with walking beside you, here, week after week.

Because it’s here that we walk in the light of the Lord – together - checking on one another, rushing to help when one of us is in trouble. 

It’s here that we walk in the light of the Lord – together - giving away a small mountain of food for Thanksgiving, welcoming guests from faraway lands, singing our hearts out, guiding young acolytes into their new ministry, opening our doors to absolutely everybody, studying God’s Word together, caring for this old holy place, placing Christmas wreaths throughout the churchyard, honoring the dead who in most cases have no one alive to remember them.

It’s right here that we walk in the light of the Lord – together - listening for God’s call, wondering what more we can do to serve God and our neighbors.  

Much of our journey is beautiful but there is always danger, and, often much suffering.

And we have a hard time seeing our destination.

Considering our many troubles, maybe Isaiah’s vision seems like a fantasy, impossibly far beyond our reach.

But, you know, on especially clear days – like when I’m over at Gilead House with Hizbullah and Abdul and friends new and old - on clear days like last Sunday evening when we celebrated the Last Chance Mass literally surrounded by all those bags of food - on especially clear days, I can look down the trail and, if I squint a little, I can almost see God’s holy mountain, where we will all finally live in peace, where we will all have enough, living the life that God has always meant for us.

A new year has begun.

“Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!”

Amen.

Where Christ is King

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 20, 2022

Year C, Proper 29: The Last Sunday after Pentecost – Christ the King

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Canticle 16

Colossians 1:11-20

Luke 23:33-40

Where Christ is King

Once Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God was coming, and he answered, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you. (Luke 17:20-21)

And, actually, that last line can also be translated, “the kingdom of God is within you.”

It seems hard to believe but today is the Last Sunday after Pentecost – the final Sunday of the church year.

Next week, we will turn the page to a new year and begin the holy season of Advent – those quick four Sundays when we prepare for the birth of Jesus, far from home and in the humblest of circumstances.

And during those four quick Advent Sundays, we also look ahead to the end of time, to the day of judgment.

But, first, today, the church offers us an opportunity to reflect on Christ the King.

For many centuries, artists have depicted Christ the King wearing and holding the symbols of an earthly kingship: the golden bejeweled crown, the orb and scepter.

Those symbols were used to honor Jesus, but also to enhance the prestige of the church – the church that, unlike Jesus, very much wanted, and often wielded, worldly power and enjoyed worldly prestige.

But by the 1920s, some church leaders recognized that their worldly power and prestige were fading.

Christians were getting swept up into the ideologies and systems of the world – fascism, communism, nationalism, secularism, materialism, and all the rest.

By the 1920s, many Christians were giving their ultimate allegiance not to Christ the King, or even to the church, but to some truly bad ideas and some really awful leaders.

So, the Church created today’s Feast of Christ the King as a way to push back at these trends, to remind people of where – and in whom – they should place their faith.

You may have noticed that this effort has not worked.

For all sorts of reasons, the church has continued to lose much of its worldly power and prestige.

This can be unnerving for people like me who earn their living from the church.

And, I know it’s sad and disappointing for the many people who miss how the church used to be – packed with people, the place to be, the place to be seen, an influential force in the community.

But, you know, these dramatic changes remind us that Jesus never sought worldly power – quite the opposite.

The Jesus who was born far from home and in the humblest of circumstances wore only one crown: a crown of thorns. 

As we heard in today’s gospel lesson, as Jesus was dying on the cross, the leaders and the soldiers mocked him.

What kind of king ends up like this, bloody and humiliated, hanging beside two criminals?

Where is all that power that we’ve heard about? Supposedly you’re able to heal others but you can’t get yourself down from that cross, can you?

Even one of the criminals uses some of his last breaths to express disgust at Jesus

What kind of king – what kind of kingdom – is this?

Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among – within - you.”

So, here’s what I think: losing our worldly power and prestige has given us new eyes to see the kingdom of God among us – and new hearts to humbly share the kingdom with people all around us.

A few examples:

Once a month, Sara and I gather here in church with our preschool children and their teachers for Children’s Chapel. Although it’s quite a challenge to hold the attention of 60 or so young children, this time has become one of the highlights of my month.

The whole service is probably shorter than the time it takes to walk the kids over here but I think it’s worth the trip.

We sing some songs. At our most recent service, Wanda played the organ and explained how it works. And, as usual, I gave a very short talk, usually inviting participation from the children.

This past time we talked about Thanksgiving and I invited the children to say who and what we’re thankful for. One of the first kids to pipe up was a little girl who gave thanks for her iPad. That made me worry if we were about to celebrate materialism, but, without any prompting from me or from the teachers, everyone else shouted out answers like “My mommy and daddy!” or “My sister!” or “My friend!”

The Kingdom of God is among – within – us.

This is where Christ is king.

Another example.

I’m still dazzled by the courage and generosity of the group of parishioners who have welcomed and cared for Hizbullah and have now offered the same hospitality to Abdul, just 18 years old.

I’m not sure you all know just how generous some of our parishioners have been to these two young men far from home.

There have been countless car rides – some of them over long distances – assistance with Hizbullah’s job search and getting Abdul enrolled in school – navigating all sorts of government bureaucracy – driving lessons - offering fun activities to break the monotony of sitting around the house – invitations to lunch and dinner – the gift of a basketball hoop for Abdul, who loves the game.

And an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner for Hizbullah, Abdul, and the other refugees at Gilead House, who aren’t really our responsibility - well, not officially, anyway.

The Kingdom of God is among – within – us.

This is where Christ is king.

Finally, over the past week it has been such a blessing to see so many of you bring in bags filled with food to share with people who might not be able to afford a Thanksgiving meal.

Day by day, the bags have taken over more and more of the Old School Building, where we have our weekday services. I like to think that they’ve been blessed by the prayers said in that room – just as your generosity will be a blessing to so many.

You all know that we distributed a list of items that we hoped would be included in each bag – pretty much the basics.

Here’s the thing, though. I noticed that quite a few of the bags looked awfully full, so I took a peek inside some of them. And, sure enough, so many of you went way beyond our basic list, doubling up on items, adding all sorts of extras and treats – party cups and festive napkins – the things that may seem small to us but really make for a special celebration for people we don’t know and who will never be able to thank us.

And, I know that many of you had to hunt long and hard for canned hams!

The Kingdom of God is among – within – us.

This is where Christ is king.

And so, we have reached the end of another church year – and what a year it’s been.

It’s true that the church doesn’t have the worldly power and prestige that it once did.

It’s true that pretty much nobody comes here to be seen or to impress anybody.

But, it’s also true that, without his golden crown, we have a clearer view of Christ the King – we can better see his life of love and sacrifice – and, most of all, the gift of new life that is offered to us all.

And without our worldly power and prestige, we have a clearer view of the Kingdom of God – a kingdom found among grateful children – a kingdom experienced when we extend hospitality to strangers – a kingdom discovered when we give even more than we are asked.

The Kingdom of God is among – within – us.

This is where Christ is king.

Amen.

Our Platform

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 8, 2022

Election Day

Deuteronomy 10:17-21

Psalm 145:1-9

Matthew 5:43-48

Our Platform

It’s good for us to be together this evening.

Although Zoom gives it a modern twist, the truth is that we are doing what Christians have done since the very beginning: gathering together to hear God’s Word and to pray for others and for ourselves.

Our Christian ancestors gathered in good times and especially during times of trouble, like the days we have been living through, the hard days, that, unfortunately, we will continue to face, no matter the outcome of today’s election.

Regardless of our politics, I hope we can all agree on the need for prayer – maybe not so much prayers for a particular electoral outcome (though, of course, I get that, and confess that I have prayed like that myself. And you’re welcome to pray for whatever and whomever you’d like!).

But we’re especially called to pray for our community, for our country – to offer prayers for peace and justice and, most of all, love – the good gifts that only God can give.

If we’re being honest, we can admit that, in our overheated political environment, there’s some risk in getting together to pray tonight – there’s the chance that some will hear unintended partisan endorsements from me or maybe from the prayers and lessons included in the service.

So, for the record, the prayers are all from the Prayer Book and the lessons are those appointed for Independence Day.

In church a couple of weeks ago, when I first announced that we would be having this service, I sensed a little bit of electricity travel around the pews.

Maybe that was just because we haven’t had an Election Day service before. Or maybe some people thought that this work is just too political for the church – that the risk of giving offense or creating division is just too great – so, better just to let people watch the election coverage on cable news, just leave them to the tension of waiting, the joy of victory, the agony of defeat, and the worries about what is yet to come.

But this moment is too important for us to chicken out.

And one of the messages that Jesus repeats over and over again is simply this: 

Be not afraid.

No matter what, God will not let go of us. 

Do not be afraid.

So that’s the first thing I want to say tonight.

And the second thing I want to say is that we Christians have our own political platform and it does not align perfectly with either the Democratic or Republican platforms, or, for that matter, with any other ideology.

In fact, Christians make a very big mistake when we think that some other political platform matches Jesus’ vision of the Kingdom of God.

The church gets into big trouble when we grow too cozy with political leaders, and we go right off the rails when we become too infatuated with worldly power.

So, what is our political platform – what’s the foundation for how we are to live together?

Well, it’s right there in tonight’s lessons, and it’s in the Baptismal Covenant we are about to renew.

Our Christian platform is putting God first, far above any worldly leaders, no matter how much we might like and support them.

Our Christian platform is sticking together, recognizing that, whatever our differences, they are not wide enough to prevent us from praying together.

Our differing points of view must not – cannot - break our bonds of love.

Our Christian platform is caring for the poor, the vulnerable, the oppressed, and welcoming the stranger. We do this not because they’re better or nicer than anybody else, but simply because they’re poor and vulnerable and oppressed and far from home, and they need our help.

Our Christian platform is trying, with God’s help, to love the people we find really hard to love – to love the tax collectors, the lepers, even the Romans, of our own day, of our own lives.

This is our platform – this is our Christian political platform.

        So now, after a seemingly endless election season, the polls have closed and we await a future that is in many ways uncertain and unsettling.

But, my dear friends, remembering who we are and whose we are, do not be afraid. 

        And, with God’s help, together, let’s stand firm on our platform – keeping our promise to love God and to love one another. 

        Amen.