St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
October 3, 2022
Year C, Proper 22: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost
Lamentations 1:1-6
Lamentations 3:19-26
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Luke 17:5-10
Even in a Time of Lengthening Shadows, the Promise of Renewal
So, it was just a few weeks ago that I stood up here and talked about seeing the first gold and brown leaves beginning to fall along the rail trail and here on our church campus.
We all knew what was coming. And yet, doesn’t it feel like we suddenly turned the page from summer to fall?
Just like that, it’s October!
I like the fall, with its more comfortable temperatures and the beautiful foliage.
And while we certainly had a rich and full summer here at St. Thomas’, fall feels like the time to get back to work – Sunday School has resumed in its beautiful new space - the full choir is back (and processing before and after the service, which, I have to say, looks really sharp!) – at last week’s Outreach Forum, we dreamed about even more ways to live into our calling as a “servant church” – and our stewardship campaign is off to an exciting start, calling all of us to be generous, giving thanks for God’s abundant generosity.
So, it’s a great time, and I feel excited and energized.
Mostly.
I say “mostly” because, while I like the fall, I’m always saddened by the shorter days.
It’s already too dark to squeeze in an early morning walk on the rail trail.
And, to me, the lengthening shadows of the Northern Hemisphere seem to reflect the shadowy news from so much of the world – the increasingly dangerous war in Ukraine, the unimaginably devastating floods in Pakistan, the destruction caused by Hurricanes Fiona and Ian in the Caribbean and Florida – the rise of of hate and violence in our country and in so many places.
And the lengthening shadows seem to reflect the hard times faced by a lot of people, including some of us - the strain caused by inflation, the troubles of illness and age, the heartbreak of broken relationships, and the fear of what is yet to come.
It is a time of lengthening shadows, for sure.
And in times of trouble, a natural reaction is lament – to grieve what and who have been lost - just like how the people of Israel wept over the destruction of Solomon’s Temple in 586 BC, mourning the loss of what they considered the most sacred place in the world, grieving that so many of their people had been exiled, maybe forever, in faraway Babylon.
In today’s lessons, we actually heard two selections from the Book of Lamentations, which is a biblical collection of poems written probably not long after Jerusalem had been sacked and so many people had been scattered.
“How lonely sits the city that once was full of people!”
Much of Lamentations is quite sad, understandably so, but what keeps it from being depressing is an undercurrent of hope, a persistent faith in God that seems to me to be a whole lot larger than a mustard seed.
In today’s second selection from Lamentations, despite the deep shadows, the terrible losses, all the bad news, we heard this:
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
One commentator compared the beautiful faith-filled poetry of Lamentations to the traditional Jewish prayer on waking in the morning:
“I thank You, everliving King, who has mercifully restored my soul within me; ample is your grace.”
With God, even in a time of lengthening shadows, there is always the promise of renewal.
As you know, today’s rain has prevented us from having our Blessing of the Animals service, a service offered in honor of Francis of Assisi, but I’d still like to say a few words about him.
Francis is often depicted as a kind of of adorable oddball, preaching to the birds, commanding a wolf to stop terrorizing people. So, we stick him out in the birdbath, bless the animals once a year, and that’s about it.
But he’s there’s much more to his story.
Francis was born in Italy in either 1180 or 1181 and grew up in a well-to-do family - his father was a successful silk merchant. As a youth, Francis was high-spirited and popular, enjoying the finer things of life.
When Francis was about 20, he joined a military expedition against a neighboring city. He was taken prisoner and held for a year, which must have been a traumatic experience, probably causing him to lose his taste for chivalry and combat and to turn his attention toward God.
The story goes that one day he was praying in a ruined chapel when suddenly he heard the voice of Jesus calling to him from a crucifix, saying:
“Francis, Francis, go and repair my church which, as you can see, is falling into ruins.”
Reasonably enough, Francis interpreted this as a buildings and grounds problem and so he went and secretly sold some of his father’s cloth and gave the money to the priest to repair the chapel, money the priest refused to accept by the way.
But, of course, Jesus was calling Francis to something much bigger and more important than fixing up a falling-down chapel.
Francis lived in a time of lengthening shadows, days when the Church had largely lost its way, more interested in worldly wealth and power than in following Jesus of Nazareth who called his followers to give away their possessions – Jesus who had no home of his own.
So, with faith far larger than a mustard seed, Francis took Jesus at his word, gave away everything that he had, celebrated God’s good creation, and proclaimed the Good News with words, yes, but through his life, most of all.
And, maybe most amazing of all, people responded to Francis’s vision – they continue to respond to Francis’ vision - which was always really just Jesus’ vision of the God’s kingdom where the poor and the hungry and the mourners are the ones truly blessed.
With God, even in a time of shadow, there is always the promise of renewal.
When Jesus says to his disciples, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed…” it’s not clear if he’s criticizing them (“You don’t even have that tiny amount of faith!”), or if he’s encouraging them (“Even your tiny faith can do amazing things!”)
I’m going with option two – and I think you should, too!
Because in a time of lengthening shadows, when there is much to mourn and much to fear, often it’s hard to have faith even the size of a mustard seed, I know.
And yet, while we could let the shadows overcome us, we here at St. Thomas’ during this season of renewal have an undercurrent of hope, a persistent faith in God and faith in the future, like the poets who wrote Lamentations, like Francis who took Jesus at his word.
There’s the devoted team that worked at offering hospitality to Afghan refugees and has now welcomed Hizbullah to our community, helping him as he builds a new life here.
There are all the people who keep donating diapers and other hygiene products to our Bottoms Up program, giving it all away to clients at the Community Crisis Center, people we’ll never know and who won’t be able to thank us.
There are all the parishioners zooming into weekly Bible study, puzzling over ancient texts, trusting that God still has something to say to us through these old stories.
There are the parents bringing their children here for Sunday School. True, it’s no longer the thing that everybody just does, but these parents are convinced that this is an important preparation – an essential foundation - for their kids’ lives, especially for the inevitable hard times.
I don’t know how to measure faith, if it’s bigger or smaller than a mustard seed. All I know is that God is doing amazing things through us.
So, just like that, it’s October.
The shadows are lengthening and the news is often grim indeed.
But, like our spiritual ancestors, we know that, with God, even in a time of lengthening shadows, there is always the promise of renewal.
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
Amen.
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