Oneness and Liberation

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 29, 2022

Year C: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 16:16-34

Psalm 97

Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21

John 17:20-26

Oneness and Liberation   

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Reflecting on today’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles – the story of Paul and Silas and their incarceration and divine jailbreak in Philippi – got me thinking back quite a few years, back to a parishioner who had been arrested for drunk driving.

Since, unfortunately, he was a repeat offender, he was sentenced to six months in the local county jail.

Before visiting him for the first time, I had never been inside a jail – and I admit that the prospect made me both nervous and also curious.

Would it be like what I had seen on TV and in the movies?

When I arrived, I had to wait on line with all of the other visitors, mostly family members, it looked to me. My black suit and clergy collar did not get me any special treatment.

Just like when you enter any government building, I had to empty the contents of my pockets into a bowl that was then run through a scanner. My pyx – the small round container that’s used to hold consecrated wafers – drew some attention, with the guards puzzling over it and then asking me what it was inside. 

I almost said “Jesus,” but went with “Holy Communion,” instead.

The guards asked me to open it so they could see for themselves.

I remember that the jail was cold – really cold – and in some places it was very loud – with the voices of the prisoners echoing off the concrete floors and cinderblock walls.

But in other places it was eerily silent.

I met with my parishioner in a small glassed-in room. There is no privacy in jail – we could see his cellblock and the other inmates and guards – and they could see us.  

We sat across from each other at a metal table.

The guard left us, closing the door, which locked with a loud “click” behind him.

As soon as we were alone, the parishioner reached across the table and held my hands tight.

He told me that I was the only person he was allowed to touch. Even when his wife came to visit, they were separated by a thick pane of glass. 

He said he had never before realized the importance of touch – and he missed it so much.

I went back once a month and after a couple of visits, I sort of got used to the jail – and some of the guards even got used to me. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to ask to look inside my pyx!

Each time, just like during my first visit, my parishioner and I would sit across from each other in the glassed-in room and he would grip my hands. We’d talk and pray and share Communion. And then I would press a button on the wall and through the intercom tell the guard that I was ready to leave.

Usually a minute or two later, a guard would appear to set me free and to send the parishioner back to his cellblock. 

That’s how it worked…except for one time.

I pressed the button, but no one answered.

I don’t know if there was a shift change or they were short staffed or if something was going on in the jail that required extra attention, but, for whatever reason, the minutes ticked by and my parishioner and I were locked in this small room.

As I felt the waves of panic begin to rise from my stomach, I tried as best I could to compose my face into a neutral expression, trying to project a “non-anxious presence.”

Eventually somebody showed up and I got out of there, but for that time – I don’t know how long it was, probably just ten minutes, but for that time I got a small taste of what it feels like to be imprisoned.

Of course, not all prisons are built of steel and cinderblock.

Many of us are imprisoned by fear or guilt or addiction or regret or hatred.

Many of us feel imprisoned by outside forces that are, or seem to be, beyond our control – crime that imprisons people in their own homes, economic and social change that makes people feel like they’re being left behind, cut off, strangers in their own land.

And then there is the gun violence that continues to terrorize our country, inflicting horrendous and unnecessary suffering, shedding so much blood.

We seem to have so many ruthless, angry, and often unhinged people willing to kill others on our streets, willing to slaughter innocents like people shopping in a supermarket in Buffalo, and like those little children and their teachers in Texas.

As I wrote to you a few days ago, I heard about the mass shooting at Robb Elementary School on Tuesday afternoon, just before going to our Preschool’s art show.

The show was was magical – and then we gathered outside with the band and the ice cream truck and all those happy, loving families, who looked so safe and carefree.

Standing there and taking in that scene, I felt something like what I felt all those years ago in jail when I was locked in that little room with my parishioner – the rising wave of panic and fear.

At that moment and in the following days as I read more about what had happened and watched the politicians and the media play their usual roles in this dreadful drama – “thoughts and prayers” – “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” – the sudden but always brief interest in mental health - intrusive video of so much grief – and talking heads saying what everyone has heard a million times – after going through this all yet again, I felt despair – the despair that we are imprisoned – imprisoned with people who are armed to the teeth – imprisoned with people who have at least some power to change things but for their own cynical political reasons do little or nothing.

Not all prisons are built with steel and cinderblock.

Today is the Seventh Sunday of Easter.

Although it is still Easter, today’s gospel lesson takes us back to the Last Supper.

Jesus is gathered around the table with his friends and he prays – he prays for oneness – Jesus prays that we will be one just as the Father and he are one.

And notice that Jesus doesn’t step out and go off by himself to offer this prayer. No, he prays out loud, right there in front of his friends, no doubt hoping that they will be the answer to his prayer – that they will hear and remember his great desire that we should be one – God and us – all of us one.

That’s what Baptism is about – it’s a sacrament of oneness – God makes an indissoluble bond with each of us in Baptism – a bond that can never be broken.

And that’s what Communion is about – it’s a sacrament of oneness – each of us taking Christ into our bodies and souls.

And, just like for Paul and Silas and even for their jailer, this oneness – this indissoluble bond with God – this unbreakable bond with each other – this oneness is stronger than any prison.

You know, bringing Holy Communion to that man in jail really felt like bringing Jesus behind bars. Very beautiful and humbling.

But the truth is that Jesus was already there. 

Jesus was already one with my friend - sustaining him, giving him the strength to go on, the humility to admit his failure, the courage to overcome his fear, and the confidence to reach across the table and hold my hand.

Today we are behind bars, in a prison built by violence, fear, and cynicism.

I don’t have all the answers but I do know this:

Just like for Paul and Silas and even their jailer, and just like for my friend in county jail, God always offers us liberation. 

But that liberation can only begin when we are the answer to Jesus’ prayer.

We’re only getting out of jail when we remember – when we truly believe in – our oneness – God and us – all of us one.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

God's Great Art Project

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 22, 2022

Year C: The Sixth Sunday of Easter – Rogation Sunday

Deuteronomy 11:10-15

Psalm 147:1-13

Romans 8:18-25

Mark 4:26-32

God’s Great Art Project

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Our Alleluia call and response is a reminder that, yes, it is still Easter.

But, today, in addition to continuing to celebrate the Resurrection, we are also observing Rogation Sunday. 

The word “rogation” comes from a Latin word meaning “to ask.”

For many centuries, on rogation days Christians have asked God to bless us with a temperate climate and a bountiful harvest. 

And, in more recent times, rogation days have been opportunities to reflect on the ways we have damaged the earth, to repent of our destructive ways, and to ask God to help us take better care of creation. 

Now, at first, it might seem like Easter and Rogation Sunday don’t have much to do with each other. But that would be a mistake.

The Risen Christ is not a ghost, not some kind of disembodied spiritual being. Actually, that would be much easier to believe, right?

But the truth is both harder to believe and much better news.

The gospels insist that the Risen Christ is still a flesh and blood human being – mysteriously transformed, yes – but, as Thomas saw for himself, still bearing the wounds of the cross – still very much the Jesus that his friends knew and loved.

The Risen Christ is a most powerful sign that God cares about our bodies and loves this physical world.

You know, I assume that God did not have to create anything at all.

I assume that God could have just gone on forever all by God’s Self, perfectly content and at peace.

But, I suspect that the God who is love almost couldn’t help creating the universe – or maybe many universes – almost couldn’t help creating all that we see hear, smell, touch, and taste - and all that we still have no idea about.

I suspect that God almost couldn’t help creating this beautiful planet and all of us.

It’s hard to contain love and creativity, maybe even for God.

And, creation didn’t have to be as beautiful and diverse and complex as it is, right?

I suppose God could have just created in black and white, rather than the riot of color that’s all around us, all the color of the galaxies that are sprinkled through the universe.

I suppose God could have created in straight lines and right angles, rather than the infinite number of shapes and sizes and designs that make up the world.

I suppose God could have been very economical with creation, creating only the bare minimum, only what was absolutely necessary, but instead God is very much like the sower in Jesus’ parable, spreading seeds, always hoping against the odds for new and abundant life.

I suppose God could have made us all the same, instead of the rainbow of colors and cultures that enrich the world and our church, instead of the different personalities with different ideas and beliefs that make life so interesting and, yes, sometimes maddening.

Creation did not have to be as beautiful and diverse and complex as it is, but God is the Great Artist and the world is God’s great art project.

And, so of course God the Artist cares about God’s great art project.

But, there’s another twist to this story:

God invites us to work on the great art project, too.

God invites us to be co-creators, to be assistant artists.

God invites us to see and appreciate God’s art, and, not only that, God wants us to add our own touches, organizing plants into a beautiful garden – mixing colors to paint a beautiful picture – arranging sounds to make beautiful music – carving wood and stone into beautiful sculpture – and, most of all, caring for creation and sharing its bounty with the hungry and the lost.

Now, let’s be honest, considering our rather poor track record in this department, God’s invitation for us to care for creation might seem unwise, at best.

This weekend’s broiling heat is an uncomfortable reminder that we have made a terrible, terrible mess – and, unless we change our ways fast, we face a bleak future indeed.

But, Easter is a reminder that God never gives up on us, a reminder that suffering and death do not get the last word.

God the Great Artist is still at work.

And, one of the true joys of being here at St. Thomas’ is that we don’t have to look hard or far to see plenty of people accepting God’s invitation to work on God’s great art project.

Each week, super-talented volunteers adorn our altar with beautiful floral arrangements. Our fellow parishioners are God’s assistant artists, indeed.

And the co-creators and assistant artists on our Green Team created and tend our pollinator garden, giving us beauty, and feeding lots of buzzing bees and all different kinds of beautiful butterflies.

The Green Team have also seen to it that trees have been planted on two and a half acres across our church property, each of those fragile saplings in their protective tubes is a little art work, a small co-creation with God, a very real way to restore and care for creation.

And then there is our Preschool and Kindergarten.

As most of you probably know by now, the school has entered a time of transition, preparing to say thank you and good-bye to Kristin Morrow who has led our school with so much dedication, skill, and heart – and getting ready to welcome our next director, Nicole Norris, who I am confident will build on our school’s strong foundations, leading us into an exciting future.

You may not know that our school is very much nature-focused.

Just about every day, the teachers and students are outside, exploring our expansive grounds. The children learn in and from creation, probably without even realizing they are learning.

But, it gets better: these children who are so familiar with God’s creation are also co-creators. Just like last year, the kids have been carefully growing plants from seed – plants that are available for us to take home and plant in our gardens.

And our children are also assistant artists. They’ve been using their God-given imaginations, their sense of wonder, and their uninhibited creativity to make some truly beautiful art – work that you can see for yourself in the Parish Hall today.

And so, despite the terrible mess we have made of things, there are reasons to hope.

It is still the Easter Season, the time when we especially remember and celebrate that God raised from the dead the flesh and blood Jesus.

The Risen Christ is a most powerful sign that God cares about our bodies and loves this physical world.

And, today, Rogation Sunday is a reminder that God invites us to be co-creators and assistant artists, playing our part in God’s great art project.

May it be so.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Love is a Verb

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 15, 2022

Year C: The Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 11:1-18

Psalm 148

Revelation 21:1-6

John 13:31-35

Love is a Verb

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

So, as some of you know, my birthday was the other day.

It wasn’t a major milestone but it was a number big enough to get me thinking more than usual about my life’s journey, with all of its twists and turns.

For a number of reasons, I’ve been reflecting a lot about the first church I served as a priest.

When I was ordained about fifteen years ago, one of the few jobs available was curate – or assisting priest – at Grace Church in Madison, New Jersey.

Madison is a beautiful and relatively affluent suburban town, only about 25 miles west of my hometown of Jersey City.

But, when I first thought about moving there and serving there, Madison looked and felt like a world away, the kind of place where I had never imagined I would work and live.

So, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to go there.

But a priest’s gotta work, so I accepted the job, bringing my insecurities and uncertainties, wondering if I would have anything in common with these well-to-do suburbanites, not sure if we would have much to talk about.

Somehow, I even imagined that these people must have their lives pretty much together and so there might not be much pastoral work for me to do.

Well, I got started and, to my surprise, from day one it was an amazingly joyful experience.

From Grace Church’s rector, The Rev. Lauren Ackland (some of you met her a few months ago at our Celebration of New Ministry), I learned much of what I know about being a priest, and from the parishioners of Grace Church I learned that people are people – and that beautiful houses and green lawns don’t exempt anyone from the human condition, the ups and downs of life.

And, yes, that was a lesson I remembered before my most recent big move.

Anyway, on one of my first Sundays at Grace, the youth group gathered outside after church to tie-dye t-shirts, selling them as a messy, but fun, fundraiser for their next mission trip.

I still have mine.

On the back are written the words, “Love is a Verb.”

“Love is a verb.”

I don’t know where the kids came up with that, but I remember being so struck by it – love is a verb – love is action – love is motion – and love can take us to some unexpected places.

“Love is a verb.”

Although our “Alleluias” remind us that it is still Easter, today’s lesson from the Gospel of John takes us all the way back to the Last Supper.

Jesus has gathered with his friends for one final meal. And during that intense and emotional gathering, with time running out, Jesus tries to teach some most important lessons:

He will always be with us when we gather around the table, when we share the Bread and the Wine.

We are to offer lowly service, like washing each other’s feet.

And, as we heard today, Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

I don’t know if the disciples spent a lot of time later on debating what exactly Jesus meant when he commanded them to “love one another.”

But, we know that they remembered the love of Jesus – a love that was shared as he traveled from village to village, healing and teaching and embracing those who were lost and suffering, caring for rich and poor alike, welcoming the outcast back into the fold.

Love is a verb.

And so, after they receive the Holy Spirit on Pentecost, that’s exactly what the eleven and the other first disciples did – they went out into the world healing, and teaching, and embracing and welcoming as many people as they could.

And, love took them to some unexpected places.

After the Resurrection itself, probably the biggest surprise for the early Church was the fact that non-Jews – the Gentiles – wanted to be part of the community, too.

As we heard in today’s lesson from Acts, this unexpected development raised complicated questions about rules and identity – challenging the church to draw the circle wider and wider.

Ultimately, the Gentiles were included – and love continued to carry the Good News throughout the world, eventually all the way to Jersey City, to Madison, and to Garrison Forest and Owings Mills, and beyond!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

In just a few minutes, I’ll have the privilege of baptizing Hutton and Lillian.

These two children are too young to know exactly what they’re getting signed up for – although at yesterday’s rehearsal two year-old Hutton expressed some perfectly reasonable hesitations about it.

Hutton and Lillian may be too young to understand Baptism, but they are not too young to know about love.

In ways too deep for words, Hutton and Lillian already know that love is a verb – love is providing good food, love is offering cleansing and comfort, love is a gentle embrace, and love is a song softly sung.

The baptismal promises that will be made on Hutton and Lillian’s behalf – the baptismal promises that we will all renew – are all about love, too:

With God’s help, breaking bread together, praying together, asking for forgiveness when we mess up.

Love is a verb.

With God’s help, sharing the Good News, seeking and serving Christ in absolutely everyone, striving for justice and peace.

Love is a verb.

With God’s help, and with some assistance from all of us, that’s what Hutton and Lillian will continue to learn and share in the years ahead – and someday they’ll look back at their own journey and marvel at all the love that guided and strengthened them along the way – the love that will take them to some unexpected places.

Jesus and his first disciples, and the youth group at Grace Church in Madison, and the St. Thomas’ parishioners who carried and sorted and sold all of that stuff at this weekend’s White Elephant Sale, all of them – all of you - teach us a great truth:

Love is a verb.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

The Holy Work of Restoration

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 8, 2022

Year C: The Fourth Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:36-43

Psalm 23

Revelation 7:9-17

John 10:22-30

The Holy Work of Restoration

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Just in case you had forgotten, our “Alleluias” are a reminder that, yes, it is still Easter, but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to begin today by looking back to Good Friday – to Good Friday in Jersey City.

Seven or eight years ago, some of us Jersey City Episcopalians looked for ways to get out of our church buildings, to somehow bring the church into the world, onto the streets of a city that, not unlike Baltimore, has pockets of prosperity along the edges but the core has been long neglected, resulting in much suffering.

One way we got out of our churches was by offering an outdoor Stations of the Cross service on Good Friday - a procession on foot through the streets of Jersey City that aimed to connect the long-ago suffering and death of Jesus to the suffering and death happening among our neighbors today.

Since there are 14 stations in the Stations of the Cross, I worked with the police department to identify 14 locations of violence that were close enough together that we could visit them all within about two hours.

As you’d guess, in some neighborhoods there were way more than 14 to choose from.

I would do my best to plan our route and then we invited clergy from across the city to participate with their congregations.

I’m still very proud that not only did we draw Mainline Protestants and Roman Catholics but also Evangelicals and Pentecostals, people who might have been unfamiliar with, or even suspicious of, rituals like the Stations of the Cross.

Each year my colleague The Rev. Laurie Wurm crafted and assembled beautiful prayers for us.

And then, on Good Friday morning, well over 100 of us gathered at the First Station. We carried a large wooden cross. And we began to recall the journey of Jesus through Jerusalem – and the suffering of our brothers and sisters in our own time and place.

Some of us carried t-shirts, each bearing the name of someone who had been murdered in Jersey City over the past year.

At each station, we’d recall the violence that had occurred there:

“At this place, a beloved brother was shot and killed.”

“At this place, a beloved sister was stabbed to death.”

At each station, someone would hammer yet another rusty nail into the large wooden cross, the startling sound echoing off the houses and apartment buildings.

Passersby would sometimes stop to watch, trying to make sense of what we were doing at those corners – in some of the roughest neighborhoods in the city, where the cracked sidewalks were often littered with shattered glass.

A few times somebody said to us something like:

“I was here when that happened.”

Or,

“He was my cousin.”

And here’s the part of the ritual that I think was most important, the part I especially want you to remember:

Before we moved onto the next station, one of the clergy would say a blessing and sprinkle Holy Water on this place that few if any people would ever describe as holy, and certainly not beautiful.

We symbolically washed away the sins of violence and destruction, rededicating this place as part of God’s good creation.

The holy work of restoration. 

I thought back to those deeply meaningful Good Friday processions in Jersey City when I first began to reflect on today’s lesson from the Gospel of John.

Jesus is in the Jerusalem Temple and John notes that it is the Feast of the Dedication, the holiday that is better known to us by its name in Hebrew, Hanukkah.

In case you don’t know the story, in 167BC the Temple was profaned by pagan sacrifices.

Eventually the Jews under the leadership of Judah Maccabee were able to take back their capital city and went about cleansing, restoring, and, finally, rededicating the Temple.

Although they only had enough oil for one day, the lamps continued to burn throughout the eight days of the rededication.

And, of course, each Hanukkah our Jewish brothers and sisters continue to light their menorah candles, remembering and celebrating the holy work of restoration.

For us Christians, today is Good Shepherd Sunday, the day when we are invited to reflect on the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, and us as the sheep who hear his voice and follow him.

Unfortunately, just like on Good Friday, today’s gospel lesson paints a picture of division between Jesus and “the Jews,” tempting us to forget that Jesus and all his first followers – his first sheep – were Jews, tempting us to fall into the ugly sin of anti-Semitism, which continues to plague us.

So, once again, it’s important to remember that the Gospel began as a Jewish story.  And it’s also important to remember that Jesus and all his first sheep lived during a very troubled time – they lived under brutal Roman occupation – a time when the first hint of dissent or rebellion was brutally crushed.

Jerusalem was stained by the blood of the crucified.

Yet, in the face of so much suffering, Jesus the Good Shepherd never calls us to take up weapons and fight fire with fire, and also never calls us to hide from the trouble.

No, in the face of suffering, Jesus the Good Shepherd leads us right into the places of pain and grief, right under the shadow of death.

Jesus the Good Shepherd calls us to continue the holy work of restoration.

In this morning’s first lesson, we heard that work continuing in and through Peter, who went to Joppa, who went right into a place of suffering and death, went right into a place of apparent hopelessness, and Peter restored faithful and generous Tabitha to life.

The holy work of restoration.

You know, probably the biggest challenge for me over these past ten months has been moving from a place I know better than any other to a place where, especially in the early weeks, I needed to use my GPS to go just about anywhere.

I’ve spent much of this time getting to know you and this beautiful place, and also learning about the ministries that are already underway in the County and in the City – places like the Community Crisis Center, Paul’s Place, and Viva House – the places where the holy work of restoration happens all the time.

Certainly a highlight of our first year together was our spectacular Easter Day, with all those people, all those flowers, all that music.

You may remember that I mentioned the Garden Club in my Easter sermon.

Well, apparently, if you preach about the Garden Club, they invite you to one of their events.

So, a couple of weeks ago, Sue and I were very pleased to head over to the Irvine Nature Center and see tables full of beautiful plants and flowers, many nurtured by our own parishioners, and we were also wowed by some remarkably creative artistic creations.

After looking at all that beauty, most of us crammed into a room where we encountered a different kind of beauty.

The Garden Club members and Sue and I heard an inspiring presentation about the remarkable grassroots project led by ReBUILD Metro that is slowly but surely transforming Johnston Square in Baltimore City from a place of vacant buildings, cracked sidewalks, and shattered glass into, well, a place restored to what it was always meant to be: part of God’s good creation.

And, it was so moving to hear the enthusiasm from the club members, eager to use their considerable skills and resources to help restore this long neglected little corner of God’s garden.

As far as I know, there hasn’t been any Holy Water involved – at least, not yet.

The holy work of restoration.

I don’t need to tell you that in so many ways things look pretty bleak these days, but in the face of so much trouble, Jesus the Good Shepherd calls us into the places of pain and grief, right under the shadow of death, inviting us, with God’s help, to continue the holy work of restoration.

May it be so.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Epilogue: The Ongoing Redemption of the World

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 1, 2022

Year C: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:1-20

Psalm 30

Revelation 5:11-14

John 21:1-19

Epilogue: The Ongoing Redemption of the World

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Happy Easter!

So, have you heard about Easter here at St. Thomas’? It was one of the most beautiful celebrations that I can remember.

On Easter morning, the church was full of people – familiar faces, people we may not have seen for a while, newcomers – all gathered here to receive the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

But, you know how it is, right?

While it’s still Easter, let’s face it, a couple of weeks after the big day, our “Alleluias!” may not sound quite as joyful as they did when the church was packed with people, and ringed with all those beautiful flowers.

And, while the best news of Easter changes everything, at the same time life also goes on pretty much as it always has.

I mean, just look at the news, filled with all too familiar cruelty and heartbreak, from Ukraine to Baltimore.

And our own lives go on more or less as usual, with some ups and some downs and lots of in-between times when it feels like we’re just muddling through, just trying our best to get through the day.

Personally, right now I’m having the time of my life here with all of you. But, like everybody else I’ve faced challenges and setbacks along the way.

For example, back in the early 90s, as a young adult who had only recently moved out of my childhood home, I found myself in one of the lowest down times of my life.

I was having trouble finding a job.

My money was running out and it was looking like I might have to ask my parents for help, or just give up my apartment and move back home.

Now, many of you have met my parents and have discovered that they are wonderful people, and that’s true, but as a young person just starting to make my way in the world, the idea of moving back home felt like an embarrassing retreat, like a defeat.

Fortunately, at just about the last minute, I learned that St. Vincent Academy in Newark needed a midyear replacement to teach history.

Established in 1869, St. Vincent’s was and still is a remarkable all-girls Catholic high school in the middle of a city that, back then, was still a long way from recovering after decades of systemic racism, the loss of industry, the uprising in 1967, and, if they could afford it, the departure of many Newarkers to greener suburban pastures.

Many businesses and other institutions had either fled or closed up.

But at St. Vincent’s, a determined and courageous band of Sisters of Charity and other teachers stood their ground, insisting that they would stay and continue to offer a high quality education to the girls of Newark and surrounding towns.

And that’s exactly what they did – and continue to do.

So, one day near the start of 1992, I took the bus to my interview, riding past rubble-strewn lots and abandoned houses, really hoping to get this job, but also wondering just what I’d be getting myself into.

Finally, the bus rounded the corner and there was St. Vincent’s, standing on a prominent hill, a monument of love and hope in a very hard place.

I was nervous during my interviews, and over the years my memory has faded, but I do remember that at one point Sister June, one of the administrators, described the school’s mission in theological terms.

She said something like, ”We are called to be part of the ongoing redemption of the world.”

Before that, I’m not sure I had ever ever given the redemption of the world any thought, but if I had I’m sure that I figured it was done once and for all two thousand years ago – but Sister June understood, and continues to live out, the truth that the redemption of the world is ongoing.

I thought of Sister June’s long ago insight when I began to reflect on today’s lessons, which describe the post-Easter redemption of two of the pillars of the early church, Peter and Paul.

If you were here last week, you’ll remember that we heard the story of Doubting Thomas.

The evangelist concludes that memorable story with these words:

“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

That certainly sounds like the end of the gospel, doesn’t it?

But, in fact, the story continues – it continues with the passage we heard today.

It’s an epilogue – an epilogue about the ongoing redemption of the world.

The setting is sometime after the first Easter Day, so Peter and the others have already seen the Risen Lord – Thomas has already been invited to touch Jesus’ wounds – they all know the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And yet, for the disciples, life seems to have very quickly gone back to normal.

Peter has gone back to fishing, though he doesn’t sound very enthused about it.

And, as we heard, Peter and the others don’t have much luck, coming up empty – that is, until, the Risen Christ appears and tells them to cast their nets on the other side.

Then there is so much abundance.

Once the disciples realize that it is the Risen Lord, we’re given the strange detail that a naked Peter quickly gets dressed and plunges into the water to get to Jesus.

As you’d guess, Peter’s nakedness has gotten a lot of scholarly attention, with some saying that he wasn’t fully naked but was only wearing an outer cloak - not properly dressed, apparently, to meet the Lord!

I don’t know about you, but Peter’s nakedness reminds me of back in the garden, back when the first people disobeyed God and were so ashamed and frightened that they tried to hide from God.

Of course, Peter has something to be ashamed of, too.

During Jesus’ moments of greatest suffering, Peter abandoned the Lord, like just about everybody else.

But, worse than running away, Peter denied even knowing Jesus – denied his Lord not once or twice but three times.

Now, although surely feeling quite a bit of shame because of his actions, Peter doesn’t hide like Adam and Eve did but, instead, he swims directly to the Lord.

And, just as Peter had denied Jesus three times, now Jesus asks three times for Peter’s love, giving the fallible fisherman a chance for redemption, blessing him as he begins his life’s work of sharing the Good News, a journey that will end with him giving away his life in service to the Lord.

Peter’s life was part of the ongoing redemption of the world – the ongoing redemption that we also heard in today’s first lesson: Saul who persecuted the early Christians is powerfully converted, his life now heading in a wildly different direction, on his way to becoming Paul, the apostle to the gentiles – Paul who spent the rest of his life sharing the Good News far and wide, a journey that will end with him giving away his life in service to the Lord.

And now, for us, life goes on with all its ups and downs and in-betweens. But, just like the Apostles Peter and Paul, just like the teachers at St. Vincent’s in Newark, just like our friends at Paul’s Place and Viva House in Baltimore, like so many others, with God's help, you and I are invited to add our lives of love and sacrifice to the long epilogue - the ongoing redemption of the world.

 

Oh, and in case you are wondering, I did get the job at St. Vincent Academy and was able to keep my apartment.

  Those years in Newark changed just about everything for me – setting in motion a chain of events that eventually led me to the most beautiful Easter, right here with all of you!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.