The Enormous Importance of Seemingly Small Things

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 30, 2023

Year A, Proper 12: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 29:15-28

Psalm 105:1-11, 45b

Romans 8:26-39

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

The Enormous Importance of Seemingly Small Things

Well, in case you’re wondering, I had a pretty good week of vacation.

After officiating at a joyful wedding in Pennsylvania last weekend – the bride was one of my first Confirmation students – the goal for the week was to get some rest, and also to explore Baltimore a little bit more.

I did some of my usual things – like taking early morning walks on the NCR Trail – where one day a man rode by me on his bike wearing a “Jersey City” t-shirt!

He whizzed past me before I could say, “Hey! I’m from Jersey City, too!”

But, you should know that there are more of us.

Sue and I made our first visit to the Baltimore Museum of Industry – a very cool and interesting place – where, among many other things, there’s a little exhibit about the Sweetheart Cup Company, which manufactured its products just down the street from us, on Reisterstown Road, right where Panera and Wegmans are today.

And we also went to Whitehall Mill where the Baltimore author Laura Lippman launched her new novel called, Prom Mom.

It was great to be with over 100 other book lovers – a nice reminder that Baltimore is a literary town – the “City that Reads,” as the old slogan says.

At the event, Lippman talked about the origin of this particular book and then answered questions from the audience about all sorts of things – but she didn’t touch on a hard topic that she talked about in a recent interview she gave to the Baltimore Banner. 

Talking about the perceptions of Baltimore shaped by shows like The Wire, Lippman said, “What you need to know is that it’s hard to live in Baltimore if you’re poor and Black. Me, I’m OK.”

“What you need to know is that it’s hard to live in Baltimore if you’re poor and Black. Me, I’m OK.”

As I’m sure you know, last week a jury convicted a teenage Black boy of voluntary manslaughter in the killing of a white man, Timothy Reynolds – which took place last summer, downtown at East Conway and Light Streets, after the baseball bat-wielding Reynolds angrily approached a group of squeegee workers.

One of them pulled on a ski mask, grabbed a gun out of a bag and shot and killed Reynolds.

Being new to Baltimore, I’ve been reluctant to say much about its troubles – I don’t want to be that guy who’s been here ten minutes and thinks he’s got everything figured out.

I never quite figured out Jersey City so I definitely don’t have Baltimore figured out.

And I’m certainly not competent enough to judge the merits of this particular case, although, frankly, I do wonder about charging a 14 year-old boy as an adult.

And, not having served on the jury, I don’t want to second-guess their judgment.

But, like a lot of people, I’ve been thinking a lot about this horrible tragedy – a tragedy for Timothy Reynolds and those who loved him – a tragedy for the boy and those who love him – yet another tragedy for Baltimore and for our gun-crazy and blood-soaked land.

And what I keep thinking about is all the seemingly small things that must have led to that tragic day in downtown Baltimore.

I’ve been thinking about the seemingly small but irritating and finally infuriating things that must have built up in Timothy Reynolds, creating so much pressure and anger that finally that day he got out of his vehicle, carrying a bat across a busy city street to confront those guys, risking and losing his life – for what?

And I’ve been thinking about all the seemingly small things that might have kept that boy from working that corner. 

Just a small opportunity to do something better and more productive, a more legitimate and less dangerous summer job to make a little money for himself without washing the windshields of usually unwilling and often frightened and angry drivers - just someone willing to serve as a mentor for him - just some safe and fun recreation like our St. Thomas’ kids get to enjoy – all seemingly small things that might have made all the difference for a boy in a city where, as Laura Lippman said, it is hard to be poor and Black.

The enormous importance of seemingly small things.

This is one of Jesus’ greatest and wisest and hardest teachings: seemingly small things are enormously important, both for ill and for good.

What could be smaller than a thought or a feeling and yet Jesus says that looking at someone with lust is as bad as committing adultery.

Jesus says that simply hating a brother or sister makes us liable to judgment.

Jesus teaches that these seemingly small things of the heart are enormously important – because it is a very short trip from our heart to our actions.

But, as we heard in today’s first two parables, the Kingdom of God also begins seemingly small – the size of a mustard seed or a little yeast – but, with the right nurturing, that small start can grow into overflowing abundance and goodness, providing shelter and food for many.

The enormous importance of seemingly small things.

These days, our problems and challenges sure seem overwhelming.

Blood continues to be shed in Baltimore and all across our land.

The extreme heat over much of the Northern Hemisphere is alarming, causing so much suffering and destruction, doing damage right here, where the violent storm on Friday night broke a big old tree in half, smashing some old and precious monuments in our churchyard.

I don’t have solutions to these big problems and challenges.

But I am encouraged, heartened, inspired by the seemingly small but enormously important seeds being planted here at St. Thomas’: 

Our partnerships with people doing good and essential work on the ground at Paul’s Place, the Community Crisis Center and Owings Mills Elementary School.

  The wonderful return of the Paul’s Place Camp.

The renewal of our pollinator garden and the thoughtful care of all of our property.

The growing diversity of our parish – giving us the opportunity to show the world – or Owings Mills, at least – that it is indeed possible for people of many different backgrounds and with lots of different points of view to pray and worship and serve together – to love one another.

So, let us not lose heart.

And, let’s always remember the enormous importance of seemingly small things.

Amen.

With God, It's Always Planting Season

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 16, 2023

Year A, Proper 10: The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 25:19-34

Psalm 119:105-112

Romans 8:1-11

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

With God, It’s Always Planting Season 

In previous sermons, I’ve already established that Sue and I are not great gardeners.

But, since we have the privilege of living in our beautiful rectory, surrounded by what feels like our own personal park, we’ve been trying our best.

And, you know, we want to have the full Greenspring Valley experience!

So, back in the spring, Sue did some planting around the house, including in the two large flowerpots that guard the walkway to the front door.

And, during the long weeks when we had very little rain, it was my job each morning to fill up the watering can and make my way around, giving all of our flowering plants a drink.

I’ll admit that I was kind of proud of how well they were all doing, especially the colorful petunias in those two pots – they really looked nice.

A couple of weeks ago, Sue and I were away for a few days, visiting wonderful friends of ours in Asheville, NC. It was a great trip and Asheville is a really nice town, but it was also good to get back home.

When we arrived back at the house, we were mostly focused on our three cats – seeing how they got along without us – checking to see if they were holding a grudge for leaving them.

The cats were just fine but not long after getting home, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe what I saw: there was no sign of the colorful flowers in the two pots.

I went outside for a closer look and I still couldn’t believe it. It was even worse than what happened to our pollinator garden last year. Not only had the deer (I assume it was the deer) eaten the petunias, there was no evidence that the flowers had ever even been there – there was just nothing left.

So, you know, I gained grudging respect for our deer neighbors. Somehow they knew we were gone, saw their opportunity, and ate everything in sight – leaving behind what sure looked like barren soil.

And, never having been super-committed to gardening, Sue and I haven’t found the energy or time to start over and plant again.

For us, planting season is over.

But, fortunately, God is much more patient and persistent.

No matter the bad soil, no matter the risks, no matter the slim chances for success, with God, it’s always planting season. 

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Matthew, we heard one of Jesus’ best-known parables: the Parable of the Sower.

Most scholars think that this parable was offered in response to a question faced by Jesus, by Matthew and his community, and by Christians down through the ages, including us here at St. Thomas’:

Why does the Good News take root and flourish in some people, while in many others not so much?

For us here at St. Thomas’, we are blessed with so many of you who have remained faithful in good times and especially in not so good days – blessed by you who have continued to come here even when our beautiful church is closed during roof replacement and we are forced to worship in the Parish Hall – which is perfectly nice but, let’s admit it, just not the same.

But there are others who used to be vital members of this community and have fallen away and have stayed away – and also others who came a couple of times and seemed really happy and excited, only to vanish, never to be seen again.

I confess that earlier in my priesthood, this used to bother me a lot. It still saddens and disappoints me when people don’t stick with us, who don’t find what they need here, but I’ve come to accept that God is the sower, not you and me.

Our job is, with God’s help, to cultivate the soil as best we can – cultivate the soil by welcoming everybody, cultivate the soil by offering our best in worship, cultivate the soil by being good stewards of our buildings and grounds, cultivate the soil by being who we say we are – by really being a church in service to the community, like how we just welcomed the Paul’s Place campers and counselors for a great week – cultivating the soil by providing opportunities for people to learn and grow, by studying the Bible and prayer and our faith.

God is the sower and we are the cultivators.

And God just does not give up.

And no matter how messed up we may be, no matter how messed up our families may be, with God, it’s always planting season.

For example…there is Israel’s founding family – Abraham and Sarah and their descendants.

For the past few weeks we’ve been hearing stories about this remarkable family – how Abraham answered God’s call to leave home and journey to an unknown land – how God blessed old Abraham and old Sarah with Isaac – but there have been other, less an inspiring stories – how Sarah was jealous of Hagar and her son with Abraham, Ishmael - so jealous that Sarah convinces Abraham to send them away with hardly enough supplies to sustain them.

Messed up.

And then there is today’s tale of sibling rivalry between the twins Esau and Jacob – a rivalry that began at birth, as Jacob held onto Esau’s foot as they both entered the world – trying for that lead position and all of its privileges.

As we heard today, it took a while, but Jacob finally got what he wanted – convincing a famished Esau to sell his birthright…for bread and a bowl of lentil stew.

And you thought your family was messed up!

But, with God, it’s always planting season.

And so, God doesn’t give up on the family of Abraham and Sarah, no matter their faithlessness and cruelty, no matter their oddness and mistakes, God continues to plant seeds in and among them.

And the same is true for us.

We are a church of imperfect people and yet God has been busy here, planting seeds no matter the season.

Sometimes those seeds don’t take root, at least not yet – the programs that don’t seem to work – the events that are not well attended – the people who come here and don’t find what they’re looking for.

But, sometimes – often - the seeds do take root – we welcome and nurture Afghan refugees, more and more of us study the Bible with new excitement, and new parishioners find their way here, overcoming fear and uncertainty, and begin to put down new roots in this old place.

So, about our rectory garden.

After the setback we endured while on vacation, I resumed my morning practice of watering what was left, hoping that we could cultivate a little more beauty, and that the deer would go back to keeping a respectful distance.

Nothing much seemed to be happening, but then, the other day, I noticed a little spot of color in the driveway.

I took a closer look and saw that it was a little petunia just like the ones that had been devastated by the deer.

Somehow a seed or two had dropped into a tiny asphalt crack and in that seemingly inhospitable place, it had taken root and bloomed. 

I know that we could attempt a transplant but I think I’m going to leave that little flower right where it is – a little sign that, no matter how low the odds of success, no matter how poor the soil, God just does not give up.

With God, it’s always planting season.

Amen. 

Yoked, Together

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 8, 2023

Year A, Proper 9: The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67

Psalm 45:11-18

Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Yoked, Together

As you know, I preach just about every week, which means I almost always have a deadline looming – ready or not, and hopefully with God’s help, I have to come up with something to say.

And, that tight schedule means there is often not much time to look back and reflect on the past – especially at a church as busy – I mean, as active – as St. Thomas’. 

Usually, I just turn the page from one Sunday to the next and get moving.

But, this week, maybe because of the slightly slower summer pace around here, I’ve been thinking back over the past couple of Sundays.

I’ve been looking back to the Sunday of Bishop Ihloff’s visitation when ten of our parishioners – some young and some, well, not so young – some who’ve been parishioners here for many years and others who’ve only been here for a few months – some who are “cradle Episcopalians” and some who are brand new to our branch of the Jesus Movement – ten of our parishioners kneeled or stood before the Bishop and reaffirmed that they really want to be part of this – they confirmed that they want to follow Jesus, here, together with all of us, with God’s help.

It was such a great day – the only thing better would’ve been if we had a Baptism – but maybe that would’ve been over the top, just too much.

But since Confirmation is closely related to Baptism, we all reaffirmed our Baptismal Covenant – promising to resist evil, to proclaim the Good News by word and example, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace among all people – big and super-ambitious promises – promises that we can only hope to fulfill with God’s help.

What a service that was – a top ten Sunday, I’d say.

And then there was last week… when we heard the challenging, problematic, and downright disturbing story of the “Binding of Isaac.”

If you were here, I’m sure you’ll remember the story – Abraham hears God call him to sacrifice his son Isaac – Abraham and Sarah’s miracle child.

When Abraham brings Isaac to the place of sacrifice, poor Isaac looks around and sees everything is ready to go but, uh, there’s just one thing. 

Isaac says, “The fire and wood are here, but where is the lamb for the offering?”

Isaac hasn’t caught on that he is the sacrifice – and why would that horrible idea ever occur to him, right?

Isaac knew that Abraham loved him – and he knew that God loved him, too.

At the last moment, Abraham hears an angel of the Lord command him to cancel the sacrifice of his son – and a ram is conveniently provided and substituted for Isaac, who lives on, and, as we heard today, eventually marries Rebekah.

After church last week and actually during the week, too, I heard from some of you who were disturbed by the Binding of Isaac – and it certainly bothers me, too.

God asking Abraham to make such a monstrous sacrifice just does not sound like the God of love.

And, as I’ve continued to reflect on the story, I’ve been struck by the fact that Abraham goes it alone. He does not tell anyone – certainly not Sarah and Isaac – he doesn’t tell anyone what he’s hearing – or thinks he’s hearing - from God.

And, although this particular story has a happy ending – the truth is that, even when we have the best of intentions, we often make our biggest mistakes – we often get ourselves into the worst trouble – we often simply fail – we often do the wrong thing - when we go it alone.

I know this. You know this. 

We know this from hard experience.

And St. Paul knew it, too.

I love today’s lesson from Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Paul writes, “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

  That’s such an accurate description of the human experience – the human condition.

Paul’s near-contemporary, the Roman poet Ovid, recognized the same dynamic. He wrote,

“I perceive what is better and approve of it, but I pursue what is worse.”

I don’t know if Ovid ever discovered a solution to this predicament, but Paul  certainly did.

At the end of today’s lesson, Paul writes, “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Paul recognized that, no matter our good intentions, no matter our determination to obey the rules, no matter our talents, if we go it alone we are likely to mess up and fail.

But, when we follow Jesus, when we submit to Jesus, then we are able to live abundant lives of love and service.

In today’s gospel lesson Jesus issues a call that is familiar to many of us – a call that is true for us. Jesus says:

“Come to me, all you that weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

So many of us are so weary – burned out - from carrying heavy burdens – and, in large part, that weariness and heaviness comes from trying to go it alone.

To us who are just plain worn out from our worries and troubles, Jesus says, take my yoke.

And we don’t take and wear this yoke alone – but we are meant to wear the yoke of Christ together.

Actually, the truth is even better than that – Jesus himself wears the yoke with us and for us.

Jesus walks the road beside us – making the seemingly impossible possible right here at St. Thomas’ – making it possible for us to love our neighbor as our self – to seek and serve Christ in one another, even the people we don’t trust – to respect the dignity of every human being, even the people we don’t like one bit.

And so, while Abraham certainly offers us a powerful example of trusting God, no matter what, he also provides a model of what not to do.

The call to sacrifice his son Isaac was too heavy a burden to carry alone. It would have been wiser to share this with Sarah and with others – and, who knows, maybe, together, they would have heard God more clearly.

Our ten parishioners modeled a much better way, right here, just a few weeks ago.

During our Confirmation and Reaffirmation service they took on the yoke of Christ together, with all the rest of us in this holy herd cheering them on, promising to support them, pledging to support one another - with God’s help, always and only with God’s help.

So, before we rush on to the next thing, before I have to come up with next week’s sermon - let’s remember – let’s celebrate – that we are yoked, together.

We are yoked, together, with Christ.

Amen. 

Trust

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 2, 2023

Year A, Proper 8: The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 22:1-14

Psalm 13

Romans 6:12-23

Matthew 10:40-42

Trust

One of the quirky things I’ve noticed about Baltimore is that people are very interested in knowing what high school you attended.

I don’t know, I guess that’s true in lots of places. After all, it’s during those intense and often quite challenging high school years that we mature into adulthood – or something close to adulthood, anyway.

For many of us, it’s during those high school years that we become the people who we are.

I’ve mentioned to you before before that I spent my high school years at St. Peter’s Prep, an all-boys Roman Catholic school run by the Jesuits, the same religious order that operates Loyola Blakefield and Loyola University here in Baltimore and many other schools across the U.S. and around the world.

Growing up, it was always assumed that I would go to “Prep,” as we called it – so it was a good thing that I was admitted and, in most respects, thrived there.

I admit that math was always a perennial problem.

Prep’s most important gift to me was the opportunity to learn about, and think critically about, my faith – to reflect on how Christianity might shape my life, both as a teenager and in the years ahead.

At the heart of that religious formation was a retreat program called “Emmaus,” named after the story in the Gospel of Luke of the Risen Jesus appearing to the two disciples on the road. 

When we were juniors, we were all invited – not required - to make one of these Emmaus retreats that took place over a weekend in a wonderfully rambling old Victorian house at the Jersey Shore.

There were about twenty of us at a time, along with a few adults and some seniors who served as the retreat “team.”

At the start of my retreat, I remember being excited and nervous – glad to be spending the weekend with some of my best friends – but also wary because I was with other classmates who I didn’t know very well.

I had heard enough about the retreats to know that I would be invited to share something of myself on this weekend, and, well, like most teenage boys, I suppose, that made me uncomfortable.

Frankly, I wasn’t sure I could trust all of these guys.

The people leading the retreat knew all of that, of course, and so pretty much the first thing we did together was a literal trust exercise.

We all gathered in the big living room where we were randomly paired off. We were then asked to fall back into the arms of our partner, trusting that this kid would not drop us – would not let us fall onto the hardwood floor.

For some, this was no problem – they just threw out their arms, tilted back, and let themselves go.

But, for others, it was really hard – they would begin to lean back but would catch themselves, unwilling or unable to trust. It took several tries and lots of encouragement before they could take the plunge.

Eventually, all of us managed to do it – with lots of laughter and clapping – setting the tone of the weekend, when we would be asked to trust one another – and, in a way we might not have realized at the time – we would be asked to trust God.

It was a holy trust exercise.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard one of the most famous – and also most problematic – of all Bible stories – what’s usually called “the Binding of Isaac” - a trust exercise far more demanding and costly than falling backwards into the arms of a high school classmate.

Here in church over the past couple of weeks, we’ve been hearing the story of Abraham and Sarah – the patriarch and matriarch of Israel – how God had called them to leave behind just about everyone and everything familiar and journey to a new land.

God promised that old Abraham and old Sarah would have descendants more numerous than the stars – a promise so absurd that Sarah just had to laugh.

And yet, here was Isaac – their beloved son – God’s ridiculous promise fulfilled – the child who was the future - for Abraham and Sarah and their people.

But now, Abraham hears God calling him to trust God in an even more profound and troubling way – God calls Abraham to sacrifice his greatest treasure – to sacrifice his son Isaac – trusting that God knows what God is doing – trusting that, somehow, God is not going to let go of Abraham and Isaac even when all hope seems to be lost – trusting that God is not going to let go of any of us, no matter what.

  The Binding of Isaac is a difficult and deeply troubling story.

If we didn’t know better, we would think that God is sadistic.

It’s heartbreaking when poor Isaac asks, “where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” – not realizing – never expecting – that he was to be that burnt offering!

And notice that Abraham doesn’t tell anyone what he’s going to do – not Sarah, not Isaac, not the servants – probably because Abraham knows that it wouldn’t take much to talk him out of sacrificing his precious son  – it wouldn’t take much convincing to keep him from taking this fearful plunge – it wouldn’t take much for him to not trust God.

But, Abraham remains steadfast, trusting that God is trustworthy, and so he once again steps into the terrifying unknown.

If, by some chance, this is the first time you’ve ever heard about God, the Binding of Isaac is a really horrible introduction - and I really wish that you had chosen a different Sunday for your first visit.

But, of course, this is not Abraham’s introduction to God – and it’s not our introduction to God, either.

The theologian Ellen F. Davis has strongly influenced my thinking about the Binding of Isaac. She argues that this story is meant for us who have gotten to know and love God - and yet we know that terrible things still happen to us and to those we love.

She writes, “…this harrowing story exists to help people who already believe make sense of their most difficult experience, when God seems to take back everything they have ever received at God’s hand.”

No matter what high school we attended, all of us face awful challenges and heartbreaking losses.

We endure disappointments, betrayals, estrangements, and grief.

We fear the future – as political differences and cynical politicians divide us into bitter enemies.

We fear the future - as the sky grows smoky once again.

We fear the future – as our land is plagued by gun violence, including the mass shooting just last night in South Baltimore, where 30 people were shot, and two people were killed.

But, like Abraham we know God.

Actually, we know God even better than Abraham because we know Jesus.

We know that even when the worst thing happens – when we reject God and nail him to a tree – God still does not give up on us – will never let go of us, no matter what.

And so, we can trust God.

At the end of our Emmaus retreat, each of us received a small wooden cross.

Back at school, we would wear our cross as a sign that we had made the retreat and maybe as a way of holding onto the powerful experience of faith for a little while longer.

Although I haven’t worn my cross since high school, I’ve managed to keep it with me for nearly forty years now, during all my ups and downs.

Nowadays, I keep it in a little bowl on the coffee table in my office.

It reminds me of those long ago days – of that time when I fell backwards into the arms of a classmate – of the first time I plunged into the arms of God – the God who is trustworthy – the God who has not let go of me – the God who does not let go of any of us, no matter what. 

Amen.