"Love One Another Deeply From the Heart"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 23, 2023

Year A: The Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24: 13-35

“Love One Another Deeply From the Heart”

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

For us, today is the Third Sunday of Easter.

So by now, it’s likely that our Easter joy has faded just a bit – maybe it takes a little more effort to belt out our Alleluias.

By now, our Easter flowers have been removed from the windowsills.

And by now, I bet that even the least popular candy has been disposed of, one way or another, and our Easter baskets have been put away until next year.

And, on this particular Third Sunday of Easter, with all the troubles and sorrows of our lives and the world, we may be having trouble finding the joy that we experienced so beautifully just two weeks ago.

Well, while it’s the Third Sunday of Easter for us, for the disciples we meet in today’s gospel lesson, it is still the first Easter Day.

For Cleopas and the other unnamed disciple – some people think that they are husband and wife, and I like that, and I’m going with it – for Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas, it is still the first Easter Day…but they are not exactly joyful.

No doubt, just like the other disciples, Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas have been traumatized by everything that happened in Jerusalem – how the excited “hosannas” of the palm parade quickly and sickeningly curdled into frenzied demands to “Crucify him!”

Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas were no doubt traumatized to see the one they had hoped would redeem Israel end up on a cross, executed by the State as if he were a common criminal.

And now, after enduring all of that heartbreak, there’s some unsettling talk of an empty tomb, and angels, and the nearly impossible to believe possibility that Jesus had risen from the dead.

Well, Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas didn’t stick around Jerusalem to find out what was really going on – maybe they needed to get back to their village, back to family and work in Emmaus.

Or, maybe their hearts just couldn’t take any more.

Maybe, exhausted, disappointed, and mixed up, they decided it was time to go home.

Well, you just heard the story, so you know how during that long seven-mile walk back to Emmaus, they encountered a stranger – someone who they thought must be really out of it not to have heard about everything that had happened in Jerusalem these past few days.

After listening to them recount the sad tale, the mysterious stranger kind of let them have it, which should have been their first clue – “how slow of heart you are” – and, right there on the road, the stranger began to crack open the Scriptures.

And, somehow, the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas – their slow and tired and hardened hearts – their hearts started to burn with hope and joy.

When they finally reached Emmaus, Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas invited the stranger into their home and when he blessed and broke the bread – well, it’s like the Last Supper but even better, because in that moment before he vanishes from their sight, Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas, they see and they know:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Although the two disciples have just walked seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus, their burning hearts won’t let them stay put.

They walk those same seven miles back to Jerusalem to share the best news ever – and discover that some other disciples have seen Jesus, too.

Many hearts were on fire - and have continued to burn ever since.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

The story of the Risen Jesus appearing to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus is so moving, beautiful, and important.

In this story we encounter so many elements of the Christian life:

We are on a road, together, and if we keep open our eyes, ears, and, most of all, our hearts, we meet the Risen Jesus in the stranger, in scripture, and in the breaking of the bread.

We are meant to offer hospitality, treating our guests as if they are Jesus himself.

And, we are called – propelled, even – to share the Good News, and sometimes that means changing our plans, doubling back the way we came, even when we’re worn out from the journey.

There is so much to say about the Emmaus story, but as I’ve been reflecting on this encounter with the Risen Jesus – and really as I’ve been reflecting on Easter itself – I keep returning to our hearts.

Last week we heard the famous story of Doubting Thomas – an apostle whose heart was locked tight – refusing to believe the Good News unless he could see and touch it for himself.

Jesus offered peace to Thomas – and unlocked the doubter’s heart.

And on the road to Emmaus, Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas, they’re having heart trouble, too – and who could blame them after all that they had endured?

But Jesus unlocked their hearts too, by sharing and teaching God’s Word and by breaking bread.

And their hearts were set on fire.

I’ve been thinking about our hearts – my own heart – because it’s clear that so many hearts across our land have grown hard and cold.

We are suffering from spiritual heart disease.

Poisoned by a toxic and relentless media diet, so many people are frightened and full of hate and anger.

And many of them are also armed to the teeth. 

And so, with all of that spiritual heart disease out there, sometimes when a stranger comes to the wrong door or turns into the wrong driveway…

Well, all I can say is, we are certainly a long way from Emmaus, where the two disciples welcomed a stranger to their table.

I don’t know how to fix all of this but here is what I do know: we are meant to be different.

As the author of the First Letter of Peter wrote to long-ago Christians, “Love one another deeply from the heart.”

We are called, commanded actually, to love one another deeply from the heart – to love the people we’ve known forever – to love the person we’ve never met who’s sitting near us right now – to love the people we like and to love the people we’re not too crazy about – to love the people who seem to disagree with us about everything – to love the people we don’t approve of or who don’t approve of us - to love the people we’re told we should fear and hate.

This is only possible with God’s help and the support of one another.

But, even with that, it’s still not easy, I know.

And, yes, as usual, I’m preaching to myself at least as much as I’m preaching to you.

But, love really is the only way out of our mess.

Because, with God’s help, when we turn off the cable news and log off the internet – when we strive to love one another deeply from the heart – God unclogs our spiritual arteries, freeing us of the poisons that have gotten in there.

When we strive to love one another deeply, Jesus unlocks our hearts and sets them on fire with hope and joy – a fire that we cannot contain but must share with others, out there in our sad and frightened world…

Just like Mr. and Mrs. Cleopas, who rushed from Emmaus all the way back to Jerusalem to share the good news – the best news ever:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Unlocking Our Hearts

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 16, 2023

Year A: The Second Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:14a, 22-32

Psalm 16

1 Peter 1:3-9

John 20:19-31

Unlocking Our Hearts

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Well, in my not totally unbiased opinion, we had a wonderfully joyful Easter Day here at St. Thomas’ Church!

Our church staff put in even more hard work than usual, making sure that we would have everything we needed – hundreds of bulletins, a spotless church and Parish Hall, Easter eggs hidden for the hunt, and more.

Thanks to the hard work of our Flower and Altar Guilds, this old holy place looked and smelled beautiful.

        And, actually, it still does, doesn't it?

Wanda and the choir outdid themselves yet again, offering a feast of glorious music.

And, speaking of feasts, the Wardens’ Breakfast provided an abundance of delicious food, feeding, I’m told, more hungry people than ever before.

And, at 10:00, I had the great privilege of baptizing a dad and his two daughters.  Josh, Maya, and Josie took the plunge into new life with Christ and we welcomed the newest members into our fellowship of faith.

I mean, come on, right? 

What could be better?

And, did I mention that lots and lots of people joined us for both of Easter Day services – and that the church was just about at capacity at the 10:00 service?

We welcomed back old friends and greeted some people who had never been here before.

All of us gathered here together to celebrate the good news that Mary Magdalene discovered early on the first Easter Day at the empty tomb, when the Risen Jesus called her by name – “Mary” – and she heard, and she saw, and she knew:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And then on Monday morning we packed the church again to celebrate the life of our dear brother Jim Piper, sending him off to heaven on a wave of Alleluias – Alleluias that have been echoing in my head and heart all week long.

Well, by now, out in the world, Easter is pretty much over with – maybe there are just a few pieces of the least popular candies stuck to the bottom of some Easter baskets – or, maybe, there’s no sign at all of last week’s celebration.

Even here in church, the crowds have thinned...somewhat.

But, it’s still Easter – it’s Easter all the way to Pentecost.

It’s still Easter for us.

And, in today’s gospel lesson, for Jesus’ disciples it’s still the first Easter.

Although the disciples have received Mary Magdalene’s report, they’re not rejoicing, not at all.

We’re told that they’re hiding behind locked doors. These Jewish followers of Jesus aren’t afraid of “the Jews” as a group but they are understandably terrified that the authorities who had brutally executed Jesus are coming for his friends next.

Plus, it’s possible that the disciples might not have received Mary Magdalene’s report that Jesus had risen as entirely good news.

I mean, most, if not all of the disciples, had abandoned Jesus at his greatest moment of need. Peter even denied knowing him – not once but three times.

So, if Jesus really has risen from the dead, it’s possible that Jesus might be displeased with his friends, to put it mildly.

So, notice when Jesus appears in the room – locked doors are no obstacle for him – his first words are, “Peace be with you.”

That must have come as quite a relief to his frightened and guilty friends.

“Peace be with you.”

And then Jesus shows them the wounds.

It would seem that Jesus does this not so much to convince the disciples of his identity – no one present expressed any doubts – but to show that the Risen Jesus is the same Jesus they had known and loved – the Risen Jesus will forever bear the wounds that he endured.

The Risen Jesus is the same Jesus they had known and loved but he is also transformed – the wounded and Risen Jesus is able to enter locked rooms – the wounded and Risen Jesus is able to enter the locked rooms of our hearts.

Of course, there was at least one notable absence on that first Easter night: Thomas.

We’re not told why Thomas wasn’t behind locked doors with the others, so we don’t know.

It could be that he was just off on some routine task – running an errand or caring for a family member or getting some rest.

Maybe.

But, the little we know about Thomas suggests that he was a man of courage.

So, I imagine this courageous man just disgusted with himself and the other disciples – just sick to his stomach that he failed his Lord and ran away to save his own skin while Jesus cried out in agony from the cross.

I imagine Thomas off in the wilderness somewhere, yelling at the night sky, asking God why this suffering and death was allowed to happen, why this teacher and healer of love and forgiveness was rejected and abandoned by just about everybody, including by Thomas himself.

I imagine that Thomas’ heart was locked tight.

And so, when his fellow disciples tell him the good news – the best news of all time – he doesn’t buy it – maybe because he doesn’t trust these guys who he knew were not exactly reliable but maybe because he doesn’t dare believe, doesn’t want to risk heartbreak yet again.

And, yet, Thomas shows up a week later.

And so does Jesus.

Jesus, the un-locker of hearts, offers Thomas exactly what he had asked for – go ahead, touch the wounds – but actually Thomas had already received what he needed most, “Peace be with you.”

And, in reply, Thomas says, “My Lord and my God!”

Thomas may have said more than he understood, but he knew the good news – the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Today, there are lots of people whose hearts are locked pretty tight – and often for good reason.

Like Thomas, perhaps, so many people have been disappointed by life, disappointed by their own actions or inactions.

Like the disciples, so many people are understandably frightened by our broken and often brutal world, dreading what is yet to come.

But, an easy to overlook detail in today’s gospel lesson is that it’s the disciples who share the Good News with Thomas, kind of like the Good Shepherd seeking out the one lost sheep.

Jesus is the un-locker of hearts and we are his apprentice locksmiths – sent out to share new life and love – called to breathe peace through our actions and words - inspired to welcome people like we did in a big way last week, and must do all the time.

Easter is just getting started and, with the state of the world, we sure do have our work cut out for us.

There’s no time to waste.

So, with God’s help, let’s boldly proclaim:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

A Man of New Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 10, 2023

The Funeral of James Piper, III

Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33

Psalm 121

Revelation 7:9-17

John 14:1-6a

A Man of New Life

Today’s Gospel lesson might be a little jarring for us to hear on this day.

After all, just yesterday we Christians celebrated the great feast of Easter, the day that is all about new life.

But our Gospel lesson takes us back to Holy Week, back to the Last Supper, back to when Jesus and his friends gathered for one final meal.

Jesus had been predicting his death for some time, but you know how it is.

Even with a lot of warning, it’s hard to accept that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

Jesus tried to reassure his friends that he was going to prepare a place for them – and that they knew the way to that place of reunion.

I’m sure that none of the disciples understood what Jesus was talking about, but It’s only Thomas who’s bold enough to admit that, actually, Lord, we do not know the way.

To which Jesus responded, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

I’m sure that didn’t really clear things up, either.

But, a few days later, maybe the disciples began to understand.

Easter is all about new life.

And, I think you’ll agree, our beloved Jim Piper was all about new life, too.

Jim was an Easter guy - a man of new life.

I am deeply honored to have the opportunity to share a few words with you this morning.

But, to be honest, I also feel a little… shortchanged.

You see, I’ve only been here for a little less than two years and so I didn’t have the chance to know Jim for anywhere near as long as most, if not all, of you did.

But, even in that relatively short time, I came to admire and love Jim, just like all of you.

We met on my first Sunday here – when I met a lot of people for the first time, making my memories of that day kind of blurry.

But I remember Jim and Mimi walking up the path to greet me with warm smiles. Jim told me how long he had been a parishioner – his whole life – and how much St. Thomas’ meant to him.

But, while Jim was certainly proud of his heritage – and his heart was full of many fond memories – the truth is he was passionate about engaging with people right here and now – and, perhaps remarkably for a man of his years, he was excited about the future.

I remember early on in my time here, we invited parishioners to a Zoom meeting to talk about our church outreach efforts.

Jim and Mimi were there and Jim urged us to get involved with ReBUILD Metro and its remarkable work Baltimore City, renewing neighborhoods, house by house, block by block.

Jim was a man of new life.

Jim had seen a lot of priests come and go in this place and yet he genuinely cared about me and my work, and he wanted to help me be successful.

So, he did for me what he did for so many others – he connected me with people he thought I should know.

So one day he picked me up and drove me down to the city for a memorable lunch with his nephew, James. And after that lunch, he took me on a personal tour of the city, pointing out landmarks he thought I should know, giving me the lay of the land. 

At one point in our travels, road construction forced us to follow a detour.

After a couple of minutes of quiet, Jim turned to me with a big smile and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been on this street before!”

That was really saying something, I know.

The little adventure of it – the newness of it – pleased him.

Jim was a man of new life.

And that was true right to the end.

One time, I guess about a month ago, I visited him in the hospital. He’d been enduring ups and downs and I could tell he wasn’t feeling great. And yet, he still wanted to hear all the latest news from St. Thomas’.

“And what’s happening with outreach?” he asked. 

And sure enough, he brought up ReBUILD Metro, yet again.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve learned so much about Jim, about his life  and his legacy – the love that he shared with Mimi and with Jenepher, Loring, and Elizabeth, and with his whole family – his deep bonds of friendship with so many – his passion for music, a passion he shared right here as a member of our choir for many decades – his commitment to mentoring – his dedication to the Irvine Nature Center, and on and on.

Jim really was a man of new life.

I was struck by the fact that Jim died on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, the day before the start of Holy Week, that solemn time when we Christians remember Jesus’ suffering and death.

Somehow, it seemed appropriate that Jim would be excused from Holy Week – there would be no more suffering for him.

It seemed appropriate that Jim – this man of new life – would get to skip ahead to Easter – moving on to the place prepared for him by Jesus himself.

For Jim, it’s the best Easter ever – it’s Alleluia forever – it’s new life with God.

For us here today, the Easter flowers and the glorious music, and the presence of so many people who loved Jim, and the reception in a little while over at Irvine, all of that will hopefully comfort us, at least a little.

But we will surely miss Jim until that great day when we are reunited.

Long ago, the Apostle Thomas said to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know the way.”

But, actually, Thomas did know the way.

And we know the way, too.

With God’s help, the way is to be a person of faithfulness, kindness, humility, generosity – a person who plants seeds and delights in watching them grow.

The way is to love.

The way is to be a person of new life.

Jim Piper, he knew the way – and he sure did show us the way.

Amen.

Easter is Our Signal

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 9, 2023

Year A: Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Colossians 3:1-4

John 20:1-18

Easter is Our Signal

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Well, these past few days we have been on quite a journey together. 

A week ago, many of us gathered here for the Palm Parade, remembering the triumphant entry of King Jesus into Jerusalem.

Just like people in Jerusalem long ago, we waved our branches and sang our Hosannas – and, just like two thousand years ago, in a time of hope and anxiety, it seemed like everything was about to change.

And it was – just not in the way anyone expected.

The Roman occupiers of Israel did not tolerate any dissent – there would be no talk of kings, not even one as unusual and unlikely as the teacher and healer from Nazareth.

And so the Romans did to Jesus what they did to so many others – nailed him to a couple of pieces of wood and let him die in agony – a stark and horrifying warning to any would-be troublemakers.

Although Jesus had told his friends that he would rise again on the third day, it seems they would not or could not believe it.

I mean, after all the pain and trauma they had endured, who would dare to hope for new life, right?

So, early on the morning of the third day – so early that it was still dark – Mary Magdalene went to the tomb.

Why was she there? 

Sadness, duty, love, but surely not hope.

Mary Magdalene discovered that the tomb was open – it seemed that there were still more horrors to endure.

She runs to get help – and Peter and the other disciple, they race to the empty tomb, take it all in, and then go back home – they offer no help and have no answers.

But then Mary Magdalene is there alone – or so she thinks.

There are two angels who ask what must have seemed a cruel question: “Woman, why are you weeping?”

And then, the “gardener” appears and Mary appeals for his help in recovering the body – still not even daring to dream of new life.

But when the “gardener” calls her by name, “Mary,” she knows.

She knows the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Following Jesus’ instructions, Mary races to the others.

For however long it took for her to reach Peter and the rest, Mary was the entire church – carrying the Good News into the world:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And now our journey has brought us here to this holy place on this most beautiful morning.

We have been blessed by God.

And we’ve also been blessed by the devotion, skill, and hard work of so many people – our church staff and volunteers, the altar and flower guilds, our choir and just so many wonderful people who love God and love our church.

As you probably know, last week – Holy Week – is the busiest week of the year for clergy and, really, for everyone engaged in church work.

What you may not know is that each year on the Tuesday in Holy Week, the clergy gather at the cathedral to renew our ordination vows and receive Holy Oil blessed by the Bishop.

Now, what I’m about to say needs to stay just between us, OK? 

Every year I think, why do we have this renewal of vows service during the busiest week of the year?

All of us clergy have many sermons to write and tons of bulletins to proofread – there is so much to do. Why not have this service the week before or some other time?

Now, I confess that usually the service is so beautiful that by the end of it I’m feeling better about the whole thing. But then I forget. And a year later I’m grumpy all over again.

Anyway, this past Tuesday morning, I was driving in the city, heading toward our cathedral on West University Parkway, feeling kind of irritable, when I was stopped by a red light.

It was at an unusual intersection because there was another intersection just a few feet ahead with its own traffic light – I bet many of you know the place.

And since the two sets of traffic lights are not in sync, there’s a sign hanging beside the light that I was stopped at.

The sign reads: “THIS IS YOUR SIGNAL.”

I looked at that sign for a second – “THIS IS YOUR SIGNAL” – and I thought, I have never seen a sign like that before.

I don’t think we have them in New Jersey!

And then, while I waited for the light to change, I looked around and, I’m not kidding, it was like the world was transformed. I saw the beautiful trees blooming and all sorts of people making their way along the sidewalk – running, pushing baby strollers, going to or from class – I looked around at all of the life – all of the goodness buzzing around me – and suddenly I felt much better about interrupting my busyness to renew my ordination vows.

And, about a second before the light turned green, it occurred to me that Easter is our signal.

Easter is our signal.

Easter doesn’t fix all of our problems and make everything all better, but Easter is our signal that, no matter how it sometimes seems, fear and hate do not get the last word.

Easter won’t put us into a permanent good mood – I mean, there’s a lot to be unhappy about - but Easter is our signal that God is always at work, transforming death into new life.

Easter is our signal that, just like Mary Magdalene, we are called to carry the Good News into our suffering and anxious world, using both our words and our actions.

Easter is our signal that it’s time to open our doors, open our arms, and, most of all, open our hearts to whomever God sends us – welcoming everyone, especially new and much-loved brothers and sisters, like Josh and Maya and Josie who are about to take the plunge into new life – and Gladys who will be right there beside them.

So, my beloved St. Thomas’, look around and the see the beauty of Easter – smell the beauty of Easter – feel the beauty of Easter – because Easter is our signal!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

In-Between Times

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 8, 2023

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4: 1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

In-Between Times

This morning, we take a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge the strange in-between time of Holy Saturday.

For the past week, many of us have been especially busy.

There have been lots of worship services, beginning with the palm parade and the reading of the Passion last Sunday.

On Thursday, we gathered around the table with Jesus the foot-washer and his disciples, gathered to remember some most important lessons.

Yesterday at noon, we faced the stark reality of Jesus’ death – the depth of his sacrifice – the hard fact that God came into the world in and through Jesus.

And human beings, not so different from us, killed him.

Meanwhile, in our lives both in and out of church, many of us have been busy getting ready for what we know is coming tomorrow – preparing for our joyful celebrations in church – and maybe preparing for time with family and friends.

But Holy Saturday – this morning’s simple and spare service – stops us for just a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge this strange in-between time.

As I’ve reflected on Holy Saturday this year, I’m struck by the fact that the people in the gospel story seem unaware that they are living through an in-between time.

Oh, in today’s gospel lesson we’re told that some of the religious authorities remembered Jesus’ promise that he would rise again on the third day.

They remembered it, all right, but they certainly did not believe it, did not expect it. Instead, they’re concerned about the possibility of deception – so, it’s best to make the tomb extra secure.

But we’re given no hint that Jesus’ followers had any hope or expectation that the story of Jesus was going to continue.

As we’ll hear tomorrow and in the days ahead, the disciples will be quite surprised that Jesus kept his promise.

The disciples were totally unprepared for the new life of Easter. 

The disciples didn’t know it, but they were living through an in-between time, when Jesus the Son of God entered into the human experience in the most extreme way possible – enduring death.

Jesus really died.

As for us, we can try our best to stay in the moment, but we know that, as we speak, the Flower Guild is hard at work in church making everything beautiful for tomorrow.

We can try our best to stay in the moment but we know what’s coming. 

And that’s fine.

We’re not playing pretend here.

But, Holy Saturday is a reminder that we also live in an in-between time – a much longer in-between time, stretching from Easter to the last day.

Much like the first disciples, during our in-between time we grow frightened and we despair – and, sometimes, perhaps we think that God has abandoned us – that maybe suffering and death will get the last word.

Holy Saturday is an opportunity to simply acknowledge these in-between times for the disciples and for us – a time to reflect on the hard facts of Jesus’ suffering and death – and, most of all, a chance to ponder the bottomless depth of God’s love for us.

And so, for a few minutes, at least:

We pray.

And we wait.

Remembrance

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 6, 2023

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Remembrance

You may have seen in the news recently that the Vatican has just formally disavowed what’s called the Doctrine of Discovery.

If you don’t know, the Doctrine of Discovery was an idea first promoted by several popes, beginning back in the 1400’s, giving some European countries pretty much a blank check to do whatever they liked with the land and people of Africa and the Americas. 

The Doctrine of Discovery led to the creation of the slave trade, the suffering and deaths of uncountable millions, the destruction of land, the theft of resources, racism, and more.

And the consequences of the Doctrine of Discovery live on today, punishing some, and benefiting others, depending…

So, admittedly, it’s a little late, but it’s good that the Church formally repudiated what was clearly an un-Christian and a deeply sinful idea and practice.

I mention all of this because the popes who blessed the Doctrine of Discovery and the men who executed it – they were all Christians – and yet, somehow, they were convinced that it was OK to do these horrible things – and not only that, they believed that God blessed these terrible deeds.

It seems that these Christians just didn’t get it, or forgot, or chose to ignore, what is at the heart of our faith.

Of course, this is a really old story, one going all the way back to the beginning.

In fact, a theme that runs through the gospels is that the disciples – that decidedly mixed bag of people chosen by Jesus to be his closest followers – the disciples very often just did not get it.

My favorite example of this is found in the Gospel of Mark.

Jesus predicts to his disciples that he is going to suffer, die, and rise again on the third day.

That should have been a lot for Jesus’ friends to take in, right?

Probably their most appropriate response would simply be to pray or at least keep a respectful silence.

But, instead, the brother disciples James and John use this as an opportunity to ask Jesus if, in the kingdom, they can sit at his right and at his left.

(In Matthew’s version of this story, it’s the mother of James and John who makes this request. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.)

We’re told that the other disciples overheard this request and they got angry at James and John – probably because they all wanted the best seats in the kingdom!

A remarkably patient Jesus uses this as a teachable moment, saying, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

In other words, the disciples were called to follow Jesus’ example.

Now, we are not told if the disciples grasped Jesus’ teaching on servant leadership, but, knowing their track record, and based on what we heard in today’s gospel lesson, I think we can probably guess.

Today is Maundy Thursday. It is a day for remembrance.

On Maundy Thursday, we especially remember the Last Supper.

Jesus and his disciples were in Jerusalem at the Passover, the great festival when Jews, then and now, remember God liberating them from Egyptian slavery.

At this particular Passover, Jerusalem was full of Jewish pilgrims from all over, and the mood in the occupied city was a combustible mix of hope and anxiety.

And what about the mood in the room where Jesus and his friends have gathered?

Well, even for the thickheaded disciples, maybe the hard truth was finally beginning to settle in: Jesus, their friend and Lord, was about to suffer and die.

Jesus certainly knew that time is running out.

And so the Master Teacher offered a couple of lessons – lessons that he must have hoped would be unforgettable.

Jesus blessed the bread and wine – told his friends that this was his body and blood – broken and poured out for them – and he told them to continue gathering around the table in memory of him. 

And then there was the second lesson.

The Evangelist John tells us that Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

How shocking that must have been! 

Peter certainly wasn’t having it – at least, not at first.

Jesus commands his followers to follow his example and wash each other’s feet, to offer humble and loving service to one another.

Who knows, after getting their feet washed by the Lord, maybe James and John finally gave up their ambition for the best seats in the house!

Today is a day for remembrance.

The Church never forgot the Last Supper, of course.

We’ve continued gathering around the Table.

And we’ve never quite forgotten the foot-washing, either – it’s in the Bible, after all, and we retell the story every year on this day.

But I wonder if we have truly remembered Jesus’ humble act of loving service – I wonder if we’ve truly remembered the call to wash each other’s feet?

I mean, if we had truly remembered, how could we have come up with - and even blessed (!) - something like the Doctrine of Discovery and all the other awful things Christians have done and continue to do?

We are commanded – it’s the mandatum that gives Maundy Thursday its name – we are commanded to love one another as Jesus has loved us.

Instead of hurting others, we are meant to wash their feet.

Today is a day for remembrance.

Near the end of this evening’s service we will “strip the altar,” removing just about everything. 

And finally, we will bring the Body and Blood of Christ to our beautiful little Altar of Repose, symbolizing the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus wept and prayed on the night before his arrest, before all that was to come.

But, this evening, in our own time of hope and anxiety, before we move onto the rest of Holy Week and the great joy of Easter, let’s really try to get it.

With God’s help, let’s truly remember what Jesus the foot-washer teaches us, what Jesus commands us:

Love one another.

Love and Sacrifice

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 2, 2023

Year A: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Matthew 21:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 27:11-54

Love and Sacrifice

If we’ve done our job right, you should be feeling a little unsettled right now.

Maybe a lot unsettled.

Because today is the most unsettling day of the Christian year.

Many of us began today’s journey outside.

Unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we knew that our journey would lead quickly to the Cross.  And yet, there was still a sense of excitement and, even, strangely enough, joy.

Everyone loves a parade, after all, and the presence of two donkeys made it even more fun.

So, like the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we carried and waved our palms, we sang our hosannas, and we made our way.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was a city shaken by turmoil.

The Jewish people chafed under oppressive Roman rule.

And, especially during the days before Passover when Jewish pilgrims arrived from all over, there was an unsettled air in the city – a combustible mix of hope and anxiety. The unsettled people dared to hope that their God of liberation was about to act again.

Just as God had freed God’s people from slavery in Egypt, just as God had returned God’s people from exile in Babylon, maybe God was about to overthrow the Romans and put a new king on Israel’s throne.

No surprise, there were some would-be messiahs around, eagerly auditioning for the part of savior.

But some people thought that this Jesus of Nazareth just might be that new and long-awaited king.

Now, it’s true that he was from out in the sticks and he clearly was not a mighty warrior, but hadn’t he given sight to the man born blind and hadn’t he raised Lazarus from the dead?

And, besides, everybody knew that God had a long history of choosing highly unlikely and seemingly unqualified people for the biggest jobs.

So, maybe, just maybe, these unsettled people thought, maybe Jesus was their King, finally entering his capital city.

Well, the mood in the city quickly changed.

The Jewish authorities were desperate to keep an uneasy peace with the Roman occupiers, a peace threatened by talk of Jesus as King of the Jews.

And the Romans – Pontius Pilate sounds kind of wishy-washy in the Passion Story but the historical reality was quite different – the Romans probably calculated that Jesus and his band of followers were no threat to their power – but it was their practice to brutally crush any sign of protest or dissent, a pointed warning to any troublemakers.

The unsettled people quickly realized that Jesus of Nazareth was not going to lead an army into battle and drive the Romans into the sea.

Instead, to everyone’s disappointment and disgust, Jesus submitted to Roman authority.

And, since no one likes a loser, the people turned against him.

And Jesus, abandoned by his friends, mocked and rejected, feeling forsaken by everybody, maybe even by God the Father, died a horrifying and shameful death on a cross, beside two bandits.

And that was the end of the story.

Or so it seemed.

Each year on this day, and during the week ahead, we remember the events in Jerusalem two thousand years ago.

We use symbolic actions like carrying palms and participating in the Passion Story not as some kind of historical reenactment but as a way for us to enter into the story as fully as we can.

To be honest, this year I find that it doesn’t take much effort to enter into this story, because, just like the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, I feel unsettled. 

We, too, live in a land shaken by turmoil.  

Just about every day, we are reminded that there are many angry, frightened, disturbed, and armed-to-the-teeth people all around us – people who, on a regular and sickening basis, act on their delusions and hatreds, act on the lies they’ve been so cynically fed, and they take innocent life – innocent life at the Covenant School in Nashville, innocent life at so many other schools, and at houses of worship and movie theaters and clubs – not to mention the lives violently taken on the streets and in the homes of Baltimore and in cities and towns across our land.

And, almost as terrifying as the violence itself, we are growing numb to it, becoming fatalistic – we hear and maybe even believe that there’s nothing to be done, this problem just can’t be fixed – so, arm yourselves and circle the wagons – and, maybe, let’s falsely blame some of the most vulnerable people among us as the source of all our trouble.

And so, in our unsettled time, in our land shaken by turmoil, some of us look for a would-be messiah - someone to solve our problems, to drive out our enemies, to return us to bygone days of supposed glory.

But as Christians – and two thousand years after the events in Jerusalem – we really should know better by now.

There is no savior but Jesus – King Jesus riding a humble donkey – riding among us unsettled people, riding right into our place of turmoil.

King Jesus offers only himself.

King Jesus offers only love and sacrifice.

Let’s face it, love and sacrifice - that never gets the crowds pumped up. But it’s the only way – it’s the only way out of the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.

King Jesus calls us to follow his example, to offer ourselves, because it is truly the only way to new life. 

Today we feel so unsettled and our land is in turmoil.

But, despite our many troubles, we must not lose hope. 

After all, two thousand years ago, the people of Jerusalem were sure that they had seen the last of Jesus of Nazareth. 

Amen.