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.

"To Be a Saint Means to Be Myself"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 6, 2022

Year C: All Saints’ Sunday

Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm 149

Ephesians 1:11-23

Luke 6:20-31

“To Be a Saint Means to Be Myself”

By now, I’m guessing that at least some of you are starting to get tired of hearing about the silent retreat that I went on a couple of weeks ago.

You may be asking, “Hasn’t he caught up on talking yet?” 

To which I answer, almost.

Retreats are different from vacations, but in both cases you can return and have to catch up on so many tasks that it feels like you need a vacation or a retreat from your vacation or retreat - or that your getaway never happened at all.

But, for whatever reason, my retreat has been sticking with me, helping me feel more grounded, even when there’s so much anxiety and fear all around.

For my retreat I visited the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky. It’s a Trappist monastery that first became well known to the wider world thanks to its most famous monk, the writer Thomas Merton.

Merton, who was born in 1915, was an adult convert to Christianity.

In 1938, while Merton was finishing a Master’s Degree at Columbia University in New York City, he was baptized in the Roman Catholic Church.

And not long after his Baptism, a friend of his named Bob Lax asked Merton what he wanted to become.

That can be a hard question to answer and Merton struggled a bit to come up with something until he finally said, “I don’t know, I guess what I want to be is a good Catholic.”

But his friend corrected him, “What you should say is that you want to be a saint.”

Merton thought this was crazy talk – how could he, a just-baptized Christian, getting such a late start on the road of faith, ever hope to be a saint?

But Merton’s wise friend explained, “All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one. Don’t you believe God will make you what He created you to be, if you consent to let Him do it? All you have to do is desire it.”

Well today, on All Saints’ Sunday, we have a lot going on!

We’re celebrating the saints whose holiness has been recognized by many and officially acknowledged – holy women and men like the Virgin Mary, St. Thomas, St. Paul, St. Francis, and all the rest.

At the same time we’re also giving thanks for a vastly larger group, all the baptized, all of those who died and rose again with Christ in the water of Baptism, just as Teddy and Frankie will in just a few minutes.

And today is also an opportunity to remember the people who have been saints in our lives, the parents, grandparents, godparents, teachers, mentors, friends, and others who first shared the faith with us – the people who taught us, often through their quiet example, just what love, mercy, forgiveness, and generosity look like.

And there’s one last most important thing that we are meant to remember today on All Saints’ Sunday.

We  - you and I - are already saints – this is what we are made for – this is who we really are.

Later in life, after he had entered the monastery and reflected more deeply on the idea of sainthood, Thomas Merton wrote this:

“For me to be a saint means to be myself.”

“For me to be a saint means to be myself.”

Merton didn’t mean that to be a saint we should just act normal – you know how we say to a person who’s nervous about an interview or some other big event, “Just be yourself!”

No, Merton is talking about something much deeper – to be our true selves – to be the loving and generous people that God created us to be.

Often this is not so easy.

And, in fact, there are many of us who maybe never really know who we are – or maybe we forget – or maybe we would just rather not know, since our true identity can be inconvenient and downright costly.

In my time here with you, it has become kind of a running gag that I love Baptism - that as a priest there’s not much I like better than baptizing people.

And that’s the absolute truth – I hope you can tell I’m not faking it – but I’ve also hoped that my excitement would be contagious – that you would also feel the joy of these days – that you would see that Baptism isn’t just a nice little ritual we do with and to children, the quiet ones and the ones who scream their heads off.

No, Baptism is a big deal because it’s here and now that we are reminded of who God made us to be – the person we really are.

For me to be a saint means to be my true self, a person who gathers here with other saints to ponder God’s Word, to pray together, to break bread. 

For me to be a saint means to be my true self, a person resisting evil but, when I mess up, quick to repent and return to the Lord.

For me to be a saint means to be my true self, a person proclaiming by word and example the Good News.

For me to be a saint means to be my true self, a person seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving my neighbor as myself.

For me to be a saint means to be my true self, a person striving for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.

For me to be a saint means to be myself – my true self  – with God’s help – always and only with God’s help.

I don’t need to tell you that, especially these days, there are some powerful forces at work, tempting us to be other than – much less than - who we really are.

But when we, with God’s help, really are our true selves – when we love one another, including the people we’re not too sure about – when we strive to even love the people we’re told we should hate and fear – when we are our true selves, then Jesus’ beautiful vision of the Kingdom starts to become more real.

And when we who are rich and full and laughing remember the poor and the hungry and the mournful – when we stand beside them and love them and serve them as beloved brothers and sisters, then Jesus’ beautiful vision of the Kingdom starts to become real.

At the start of my sermon, I mentioned that the grace of my recent retreat hasn’t faded very much, so far.

I’m not sure why exactly, but I wonder if it’s because I find myself here, surrounded by so many people who strive, with God’s help, to fulfill their baptismal vows – to be the loving and generous people God created them to be.

After today’s 10:00 service, many of us will have lunch with our guest from Afghanistan, Hizbullah.

Or, actually, I should say that Hizbullah is our first guest from Afghanistan, because last week we welcomed guest number two, a fine young man named Abdul.

When I think of the courage, generosity and creativity and persistence of the little team that has stepped into the unknown and welcomed Hizbullah and now Abdul and has cared for them and gotten them off to such a good start – and when I think of the people who have worked so hard to prepare a beautiful feast for us later today - well, no doubt they will recoil in embarrassment and modesty, but this is saintly behavior for sure, moving us a little closer to the Kingdom of God.

So, you know, St. Thomas’ may not be a quiet monastery in the Kentucky countryside, but this is a holy place where many people answer God’s call to be our true selves.

To be a saint means to be myself.

Amen.