Liberated to Be Our True Selves

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 31, 2024

Year B: Easter Day

Acts 10:34-43

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

1 Corinthians 15:1-11

John 20:1-18

Liberated to Be Our True Selves

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

It’s Easter for us and in today’s gospel lesson it is the first Easter morning. 

The disciples have been through so much.

They saw palm-waving crowds hail their Lord as a long-awaited and triumphant king. The crowds thought that Jesus would be a mighty ruler who would liberate them from Roman rule.

But the fact that Jesus was riding a donkey should’ve tipped them off that he was not that kind of king.

When the machinery of the state swung into action to get rid of this would-be king, Jesus did not resist.

He submitted to his fate.

The people turned against him.

Most, if not all, of his friends abandoned him.

And Jesus poured out his life on the Cross.

Empty, or so it seemed.

The disciples must have been traumatized by the suffering and death of Jesus.

They were grieving.

Maybe they felt guilty about abandoning their Lord in his time of suffering. And now most of the disciples were hiding in fear, understandably worried that the Romans would be coming for Jesus’ friends next.

But at least one of Jesus’ friends wasn’t hiding.

Early in the morning, so early that it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb.

We’re not told why.

Maybe she was tired of hiding with the others.

Maybe she just wanted to be close to Jesus, as close as she could be.

Maybe she remembered his promise to rise again on the third day.

Mary Magdalene arrives at the tomb and discovers that the stone has been removed and Mary, emptied of all hope, assumes the worst: someone has stolen the body.

Will the horrors never end?

How much suffering and loss must she and the others endure?

She goes to get others – Peter and the other disciple – but, unfortunately, although there’s a lot of running back and forth, these men are really not much help at all.

Finally, finally, Mary is alone in the garden, not knowing what’s happened, not knowing what to do.

Emptiness.

But then, she hears the voice of “the Gardener” call her name.

And, suddenly, Mary knows – she knows the voice of her Shepherd, and now she’s the first to know the best news of all time:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

What was empty has been replenished.

Death has been turned into new life.

Mary’s grief and despair have been transformed into hope and joy.

And, for as long as it took Mary to reach the others, she was the whole church, bearing the Good News:

Jesus has been liberated from the tomb.

And we – all of us here today on this glorious day - we are liberated for new life, liberated to live the way we were always meant to live, liberated to be our true selves.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

For much of the past year, like a lot of people, including maybe some of you, I was fascinated by the story of Flaco, the Eurasian eagle-owl.

Flaco had been born in captivity, and spent more than twelve years in an enclosure in the Central Park Zoo in New York City.

There, he was well cared for, given all the food and medical care he needed. But he didn’t really get to live a fully owl life – he didn’t have to hunt and couldn’t really fly very far.

Well, on February 23, 2023, Flaco’s enclosure was vandalized.

Now, before I go any further, I want to make absolutely clear that I do not condone vandalism. I don’t want to get any letters!

But, on that winter night, apparently the long captive Flaco saw his opportunity and he escaped into a new life, turning up looking dazed and frightened on the sidewalk along Fifth Avenue.

There were attempts to capture Flaco but he evaded them each time – he was not going back to his enclosure.

Instead, quicker and more successfully than anyone expected, he figured out how to hunt for his supper and he gained enough confidence to fly high, hooting from tree branches and water towers atop tall buildings.

Flaco drew a lot of attention, people rooted for him – his liberation and his ability to learn and to adapt to life in the big city touched people’s hearts – and people worried about him, too. After all, as Flaco learned and as we know only too well, as we saw just a few days ago when a bridge we might have thought would stand forever came tumbling down in seconds, the world is full of many dangers.

For Mary Magdalene and the disciples, for all of us, Easter is the moment of our liberation – eternal death is defeated.

Yes, the world is still full of many challenges and dangers, but the God who is full of life and love will not let go of us, no matter what. 

So, we are now free - free to live as our true selves, to be the people that God always meant for us to be.

With God’s help, we are now free to live out our baptismal promises – the promises that, in just a few minutes, Charlotte will now make, the promises that will be made on Rose’s behalf, the promises that all of us will renew.

With God’s help, we are free to take the risk of loving our neighbor as our self – the risk of seeking and serving Christ in absolutely everyone, even the people who are different, the people we don’t like, even the people we don’t trust at all.

We are free to take the risk of being generous, not just giving from what’s left over after all our needs are fully met.

We are free to take the risk of forgiveness, asking for pardon when we mess up and offering mercy when we’ve been wronged.

And when the end – or what seems to be the end - comes – as it did for Flaco and as it will for all of us, we can be free of fear, trusting that the God who raised Jesus from the dead won’t forget about us, either.

It’s Easter.

It may take some time for us to get our bearings, but what was empty has been replenished.

We may not feel quite ready to fly just yet, but grief and despair have been transformed into hope and joy.

It’s Easter. And we have been liberated!

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

When the Tomb is Full

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 30, 2024

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

When the Tomb is Full

This morning we arrive at the most mysterious, most unknowable, most in-between time of the Christian Year.

The Palm Parade seems a distant memory.

The tumult and suffering of Good Friday is mercifully ended.

Jesus has poured out his blood, his love, his life, and his hope for us.

And this morning we remember the hard fact that Jesus really died.

This morning we remember that, for a time, the tomb was not empty.

The tomb was full.

There are many who believe that the best way to observe this day is simply to be quiet.

There’s wisdom to that but the reality is that most, maybe all, of us, won’t be quiet today.

Instead, we’ll keep busy – maybe getting ready for tomorrow.

Or, maybe just doing our usual chores and activities.

So, that’s why I think it’s important to gather this morning and to remember, to face, this mysterious in-between time when Jesus was really dead.

When the tomb was not empty.

It was full.

Scripture is mostly silent on what was going on during this in-between time.

But that hasn’t stopped Christians from speculating, imagining, what it means that Jesus “descended to the dead.”

Some have described what’s called the “Harrowing of Hell,” that Jesus didn’t just descend to the dead but he liberated the dead, leading them out of hell, with Adam and Eve often pictured at the front of the line.

Or, as I like to think, maybe Judas was the first to be freed.

I don’t know. 

But if Jesus is who we say he is, then in some sense God has experienced death.

God knows what it’s like when the tomb is full.

And so, in those times when it feels like our tomb is full, when we are consumed by fear and grief, when we are confronted by betrayal and death, we can be sure that God knows what this is like, that God is beside us, enduring with us.

And, because we know what – we know who – Mary Magdalene will discover in the garden early tomorrow morning, we can be sure that God won’t leave us in our tombs forever.

After the tumult and suffering of yesterday and in this mysterious in-between time today, and with our own worries and the many troubles of the world, we may be feeling empty.

But remember:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

The tomb will not be full forever.

Soon.

Emptiness

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 29, 2024

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22

Hebrews 10:16-25

John 18:1-19:42

Emptiness

We can only call today Good Friday because we know what awaits Jesus and his friends and us.

Without that knowledge, we certainly wouldn’t be here today. 

And Jesus of Nazareth would be just a footnote in history, if that.

We also know that through much of our history Good Friday has been a very bad day for our Jewish brothers and sisters.

So, it’s important to understand that when we remember the events in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we are not recalling a long-ago battle between Jews and Christians.

There were no Christians, yet.

And, with the exception of Pontius Pilate and his fellow Romans, everyone in this sad story, very much including Jesus himself, was Jewish.

And although the religious authorities seemed to feel threatened by Jesus and feared that he, or the people who hailed him as king, would bring on a disaster, it was Pilate and the Romans who executed Jesus.

Jesus, like so many others throughout history and still today, was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

But, over the years, the Church forgot – or chose to forget – this.

And, worst of all, Christians held the Jews of later generations responsible for what happened long ago, unleashing horrific violence, cruelty, and suffering.

Tragedy upon tragedy.

In response to this horrible history, today we used a slightly different but perfectly acceptable translation of the Passion, in most cases replacing “Jews” with “Judeans.”

Especially these days with anti-Semitism on the rise, hopefully this language will help us to recognize that the Jews of today have nothing to do with the events that we remember today. 

And, not only that, but hopefully we will remember that God’s covenant with the Jewish people is eternal. 

The Jews are forever our elder siblings in faith.

After Jesus was baptized and then tempted in the wilderness, he spent his time – three years is the traditional count – he spent his time pouring out his life in loving service to God the Father and to us.

Jesus poured out his life, teaching and healing.

Jesus poured out his life, calling us to lives of loving service, instructing us that true greatness comes through loving service - washing feet – giving away ourselves for God and for one another.

Not an easy teaching, for sure, but pretty simple, really.

And yet, people had a hard time figuring him out.

How did an uneducated craftsman from the sticks become such a compelling teacher, such a powerful healer?

Even Jesus’ closest friends usually didn’t really get it.

Instead, they jockeyed for the best seats in heaven.

They resisted the foot washing  - and one even betrayed Jesus, maybe because he wanted to provoke Jesus into being the kind of king that people recognized and expected – the kind of king they thought they wanted.

Just a few days ago we remembered – and, in a small way, even reenacted -Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

The crowd sure was excited, shouting “Hosanna!” and placing their cloaks and palms along the way.

But even in this moment, which kind of looked like earthly glory, there were signs that maybe this palm parade wasn’t so triumphant, or not triumphant in the ways that everyone expected.

There was no military escort and no dignitaries gathered to greet the King.

And, instead of an imposing horse, this King rode a donkey.

Well, the mood quickly shifted – and maybe it was some of the same Hosanna-shouting, palm-waving people, who soon enough were shouting, “Crucify him!”

Let’s be done with this loser, this disappointment, this sad excuse for a king.

And Jesus, rejected and abandoned by just about everyone, poured out his life on the cross.

Emptiness.

Or so it seemed.

Speaking of emptiness, as I’ve been reflecting on this story from Jerusalem of two thousand years ago, I’ve been struck by the emptiness of most of the characters.

The religious authorities should have trusted in God but instead they were so afraid, afraid of the Romans, afraid of their own people, afraid of losing their positions of power and privilege.

In the gospels, Pontius Pilate is depicted as kind of wishy-washy but another ancient source indicates that he was ruthless, cruel even by the brutal standards of Rome.

And what did that cruelty get him? Worldly power for a while, yes, but forever remembered for executing the Son of God.

And the people, they seem to just follow whichever way the wind is blowing, welcoming Jesus and then quickly turning against him when they realize he’s not the king that they expected – not the kind of king they thought they wanted and needed.

And most of the disciples reveal their emptiness, too, faithless and disloyal, running away, abandoning, even denying, their friend and Lord in his time of need and suffering.

And, perhaps, if we were there two thousand years ago, we would have revealed our own emptiness, too.

On the cross, Jesus offers us his final teaching.

Jesus pours out his life – giving away all of it - in loving service to God the Father and to us.

Emptiness.

Or so it seemed.

Like those people in Jerusalem long ago, we’ve been through a lot.

We’ve been through a lot even in just the last few days.

And today we may be feeling quite empty.

But just wait.

For now, just wait at the foot of the cross.

And on this hard day and on all the hard days, remember:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

Pouring Out Lessons

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 28, 2024

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Pouring Out Lessons

This past Sunday was the most unsettling day of the Christian Year.

In fact, it’s such an unsettling day that we can’t even decide on one name for it.

It’s officially called “The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday.”

At 10:00, we began out in the parking lot with the Palm Procession, remembering and, sort of, reenacting King Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, when he was greeted with palms and shouts of “Hosanna,” which means, “Lord, save us.”

Lord, save us.

But once we got into the church, the mood turned fast, as we quickly, jarringly, jumped ahead from the palms to the Passion.

It turned out that Jesus wasn’t the kind of King that anyone expected or seemed to want. 

Since he wasn’t a mighty warrior like King David, since he wasn’t going to expel the Roman occupiers and restore Israel’s earthly glory, the people turned against him and the Romans brutally killed him as they killed so many other rebels and would-be kings.

On Sunday, before we knew it, we were shouting along with the ancient crowd, “Crucify him!”

Before we knew it, we were at the foot of the Cross, as Jesus poured out himself: his blood, his love, his life, even his hope.

Emptiness.

Or so it seemed.

And now here, this evening, we back up a day.

We’re still in Jerusalem and the “Hosannas” from the Palm Parade must have still been echoing in Jesus’ ears and in the ears of his disciples, his friends.

It’s hard to know if the disciples really got swept up in all the excitement.

Did they remember that Jesus had been predicting for some time that he would be rejected and killed – and that he would rise again on the third day?

How much of that could the notoriously clueless disciples really grasp and truly accept?

I don’t know.

I do know that it’s hard – so very hard – to face that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

But now, during that long ago evening in Jerusalem, as Jesus and his friends gathered around the table for one last meal, the hard truth must have been sinking in.

And so, with time running out, Jesus the Great Teacher offers some final, most important lessons.

Pouring out lessons.

Jesus blesses the bread and the wine and shares it with his friends, saying this is his Body and Blood, poured out for them – poured out for us - his Body and Blood poured into our hearts, each time we gather around the Table and remember him.

And to the shock and dismay of Peter and probably the others, too, Jesus gets up from the table, pours water into a basin and begins washing his disciples’ feet, yes, including even Judas, who is about to betray him.

Jesus, pouring out himself in loving and lowly service.

And Jesus commands his friends – it’s the “mandate” that gives Maundy Thursday its name – Jesus commands us that if we wish to follow Jesus we must wash feet, too.

We must pour out our lives in loving and lowly service.

We must love one another as Jesus has loved us.

Pouring out lessons.

In a few minutes, we will gather at the Table with Jesus and with one another for the final time until Easter morning.

And at the conclusion of tonight’s service, we will clear away all of the holy objects.

“Stripping the altar” it’s called, preparing for the humiliation and suffering and death that Jesus will face tomorrow, on Good Friday.

And we will bring the Body and Blood of Christ to our beautiful little “Altar of Repose,” echoing Jesus’ night in the Garden of Gethsemane, a night of agonizing prayer and preparation.

By then, there really won’t be anything left to say, so we’ll depart in silence, prepared as best we can be for tomorrow, for the hardest day of the Church Year.

Tomorrow, Jesus will give away himself on the Cross: pouring out his blood, his love, his life, even his hope.

Poured out until nothing was left, nothing but emptiness.

Or so it will seem.

Because, even on the hard days,

Especially on the hardest days:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, poured out, in and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

Life and Love, Shared With Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 24, 2024

Year B: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Mark 11:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Mark 15:1-39

Life and Love, Shared With Us

Today is the most unsettling day of the Christian Year.

On this day, we begin with what’s usually called Jesus’ “triumphant” entry into Jerusalem.

At last, the long-awaited King has entered his capital city!

And at first glance, his entry does seem triumphant.

There are crowds along the way, laying their cloaks and their palms before the King.

They shout “Hosanna!” which means “Lord, save us!”

“Lord, save us!”

They shout “Hosanna!” because at least some of them think that, finally, God has sent a King like David, a military leader who will expel the Roman occupiers and restore Israel’s independence, renew its glory.

At first glance, the entry of King Jesus into Jerusalem does indeed seem triumphant.

But perhaps careful observers noticed that this might not be such a triumphant entry after all.

Where was the military escort?

Where were the dignitaries gathered to welcome the King, to pay him homage?

And why was this King riding a donkey?

I mean, every other new King – most every other new leader, even today – is all about gathering and accumulating – gathering supporters, followers, power –accumulating money, weapons, loyalty – gathering and accumulating as many and as much as possible to intimidate opponents and cement dominance.

But this King Jesus does just the opposite.

This King is just the opposite.

Oh, it’s true, he attracted some followers – an unimpressive group overall, and most will run away from him at the first sign of trouble.

No, as King Jesus enters his capital city, he’s not set on gathering and accumulating – he’s there to love and to serve, to give himself away.

Emptying himself.

It was just before Passover, so Jerusalem was teeming with pilgrims, its population probably swelled by around three times its normal size.

It was a festive time and it was also a tense time.

The Roman occupiers were on the lookout for any signs of protest or rebellion – any hint of trouble that they would swiftly crush with brutality and efficiency, with nails and wood.

And the Jewish leaders were desperate to keep the peace, to prevent anyone from sparking a devastating conflict with the Romans.

So, even without a military escort, and even with the donkey, powerful people were probably aware that some people were hailing a teacher and healer from Nazareth of all places as King of Israel.

And so, soon enough, the machinery of the state swung into action, sealing the fate of King Jesus.

The people, as always, wanted to back a winner and, well, Jesus must have looked like the biggest loser in town.

So the emptying of Jesus continued – no more palm-waving crowds, few if any followers or friends, expectation and excitement replaced by rejection and mockery.

And a final emptying on the Cross – the emptying of blood, and life, and even, it would seem, the emptying of hope.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Emptying himself.

On this unsettling day we remember an unsettling time in Jerusalem, two thousand years ago.

What began full of hope and promise – what began with palms and hosannas, ends with suffering, disappointment, and death.

Emptiness.

Or, so it seemed.

If Jesus is who we say he is, then back in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, God personally experienced rejection and pain and even death – emptiness.

But, at the same time, God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Sometimes – often - it feels like winter will last forever.

Like death gets the last word.

Like all hope is lost.

But it’s not true.

Spring arrives.

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Later, later, the first Christians saw this, they understood this – they even sang about Christ Jesus, this King who loved and served, who emptied himself – emptied himself on the Cross – this King who was gloriously replenished – exalted - by God on the third day.

But that’s for next week.

For now, we remain at the foot of the Cross.

And on this most unsettling day in our most unsettling world, we may be feeling quite empty.

But just wait.

Because:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

"We Wish To See Jesus"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 17, 2024

Year B: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Jeremiah 31:31-34

Psalm 51:1-13

Hebrews 5:5-10

John 12:20-33

“We Wish To See Jesus”

Back in Jersey City, I used to participate in Lenten services sponsored by the Liturgical Churches Union – an organization of predominately Black churches, mostly representing different branches of the Methodist tradition.

Not being Black, and also not being Methodist, I did sometimes feel a little like the “odd man out” but it’s valuable and instructive for those of us who are usually in the majority to be perhaps a little uncomfortable, to get a taste of what it’s like to be in the minority.

That said, the other clergy and their church members were always very welcoming, always glad that my parishioners and I were there.

The Lenten services were one night a week, held at different participating churches.

Each week, one of us ministers would preach, always accompanied by our choir.

So my parishioners and I got to hear different preaching styles and we got to enjoy some really excellent choirs.

And the pastors and people from the other churches got to hear our wonderful choir – and they got to hear me preach.

Now, I’ve been at this long enough to have settled on my preaching style.

You’ve probably noticed.

So, at these Lenten services, I didn’t pretend to be someone I’m not – but I did have to lengthen my sermons, a bit.

If you’ve timed me, you know that I tend to preach around twelve minutes.

Well, at the twelve-minute mark, my fellow pastors would really just be getting started!

Anyway, it really was great to hear the preaching and the various choirs.

And it was a blessing to make friends among the Black clergy in town.

And it was also fascinating to get inside all of these different churches, to see the architecture and art, to preach from unfamiliar pulpits.

One of the churches was the Metropolitan AME Zion Church, where Martin Luther King Jr. spoke, about a week before he was assassinated.

There’s a sign in Metropolitan’s pulpit, visible only to the preacher. It must have been visible to Dr. King.

The sign reads: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

“We wish to see Jesus.”

What a powerful reminder to every preacher that the people before us have not gathered to hear how clever or funny or intelligent or fiery or brief or long-winded we are.

No, all of us, people and pastors, all of us come here, week after week, because we wish to see Jesus.

In today’s gospel lesson, we briefly encounter a group of people – we’re told they are Greeks – who wish to see Jesus.

The setting is Jerusalem, near the time of the Passover.

We’ll mark Palm Sunday next week but in this passage, Jesus has already arrived in the capital city, has already paraded on a donkey through the streets as people lay palms and cloaks along his way.

So, it’s no surprise that a group of out of town visitors would want to see Jesus.

They had probably already heard of him and they surely were aware of the palm parade.

We’re not told if these Greeks ever did get to see Jesus, they are not mentioned again.

But, in his words that follow, Jesus shows himself - reveals himself and his mission for all to see.

Jesus will be glorified not by the Palm Parade, not by taking his seat on a throne in a palace.

No, Jesus will be glorified by giving away his life on the cross.

Jesus will be the seed that dies so new life can take root – so new life can take root for him and for us all.

And when we see Jesus, Jesus always calls us to follow him – to follow him by giving away our lives in loving service, by striving to love everyone, especially the people we don’t like or trust, the people we find so hard to love.

“We wish to see Jesus.”

One of the ironies of being a priest is that I spend a good bit of time encouraging people to stay in the moment, to look for how God might be at work, right here and right now.

Unfortunately, the nature of my job makes this particularly difficult for me.

So, I’m trying – I’m really trying – to be right here and right now with you on the Fifth Sunday in Lent. But not very far in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about Palm Sunday – will the palms arrive in time – will the weather allow us to have our little palm parade? 

I’m thinking about Holy Week – will all those bulletins get edited and printed – will the copier fail us in our moment of greatest need - and will I find the right words in all those sermons – sermons that will hopefully help people to see Jesus.

And, of course, I’m thinking about Easter Day – the biggest day of the church year.

Hopefully, on Easter morning we will welcome lots of people, many of whom haven’t been here since Christmas, or maybe last Easter, or perhaps even longer than that.

Now it might be tempting to make wisecracks – “Don’t forget we’re here every Sunday!” or “Hey stranger, how’ve you been?”

We won’t do that, of course.

We should and will be thankful and joyful to see everybody, all of these people who will be here for all kinds of reasons.

For some, it’s simply tradition.

It’s Easter and we go to church.

For others, they may want to see and hear beauty – the gorgeous flowers, the glorious music, the stylish hats and outfits.

For some, maybe it’s a way to keep mom or grandma happy.

“All right, I’ll go to church.”

But, I think, deep down inside, these people will be here for the same ultimate reason that we come here all the time.

In a world that seems to be obsessed with hate and violence and division, in a time when so many are tempted to follow the way of death, in a place where our lives are often consumed by work and family responsibilities and holding on to what we’ve got and fears about the future, in a time and place such as this, people may not even know it, or won’t even admit it, but they wish to see Jesus.

We wish to see Jesus.

And so, on Easter and all the time, our job – our privilege – is to show them – to show one another - Jesus.

May they see Jesus in this community of people from different places and with lots of different viewpoints, who transcend our differences with love and service.

May they see Jesus in this servant church, where we give not just from what’s left over after our needs are met but we give in ways that really cost us – really take some of our valuable time, talent, and treasure.

May they see Jesus in God’s Word and most of all in the in the Bread and the Wine.

And, God willing, may they even see Jesus in the sermon, in twelve minutes or less.

The people – the people out there – the people wish to see Jesus – they need to see Jesus.

So, with God’s help, on Easter and always, let’s show them Jesus.

Amen.

Look and Live!

Look and Live!

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 10, 2024

Year B: The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Numbers 21:4-9

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22

Ephesians 2:1-10

John 3:14-21

I hope you know that I could stand up here all day and talk about the many blessings of serving as the Rector of this church.

But, don’t worry. Since we don’t have all day, I’ll just mention that Sue and I feel very fortunate to live in the beautiful rectory that you have provided for us.

Frankly, it seems a bit much, but we’ll take it!

` That said, I do miss being able to just walk out my door and take a walk. It took a while for me to get used to there not being a sidewalk, that I can only walk as far as the end of the driveway.

Actually, that’s not totally true.

Our sexton Ricky Sigai maintains a mown path through the wide field between the rectory and the western edge of the cemetery.

One morning not long after we had moved in, I decided to walk that path to work.

I wore my sneakers and placed my dress shoes in a bag, and made my way through the field – a really beautiful trip of about a third of a mile.

Me being me, I stopped a couple of times to take pictures of our campus from this new-to-me vantage point.

Anyway, it was a very pleasant and uneventful walk – and I remember thinking that I might do this on days when the weather was good and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need my car.

Later that morning, maybe because I felt a little proud of myself, I told this story to the “crafty” members of what’s now called the “Thursday Morning Group.”

And one of them said, “You better watch out for snakes.”

What???

She said, there are probably a lot of snakes out in that field.

Now, because I looked it up, I know that there are only two species of poisonous snakes in Maryland, that most snakes are perfectly harmless, but I have to say that this little piece of information changed my view of my pleasant walk through the field.

I’ve taken that trip a few more times but always stepping gingerly, always looking out for any slithering and hissing surprises.

In the ancient world, people feared snakes and also respected them.

They were sometimes seen as symbols of healing and fertility.

But, fairly or not, in the Bible, the snake – or the serpent – is almost always viewed in a negative light, including right from the start in the Garden of Eden when the serpent convinces the first man and woman to make a big mistake.

And in today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard a disturbing snake story.

The setting is the long exodus from Egypt and the Israelites are once again complaining about the trip – they’re sick of the food, which, by the way, was the manna given them by God.

They’re sort of the ultimate example of a long road trip with kids in the back seat bellyaching, “Are we there yet?”

Well, the story goes that God gets so fed up with their complaining that God sends poisonous snakes to bite and kill them.

No surprise, this gets the Israelites to quickly change their tune.

And God tells Moses to create a bronze snake, stick it on a pole, and anyone who gets bitten by a snake should look at the pole and live.

And that’s just what they do.

Now, if you find this story disturbing, you’re in good company.

First of all, there’s the whole issue of God unleashing poisonous snakes on people.

And there’s also more than a whiff of magic and idolatry in this story.

Later on, that’s what bothered the rabbis.

So they suggested that Israelites weren’t so much looking at the bronze snake but gazing at God above, the Source of healing and life.

And this might be what Jesus has in mind in today’s gospel lesson.

Jesus will be lifted up – lifted up on the cross – exalted on the cross – revealing the bottomless depth of God’s love for the world.

God loves the world so much that the Son of God takes the worst that the world can dish out – betrayal, rejection, cruelty, suffering, and death – the Son of God takes all of our deadly venom and triumphs.

There’s a 19th Century hymn called “Look and Live.”

Maybe some of you know it.

We actually can’t sing it right now – not just because of my voice - but because it contains the word that we absolutely do not say during Lent.

But, editing out that word, it goes like this:

“I’ve a message from the Lord…

The message unto you I’ll give.

‘Tis recorded in His Word…

It is only that you “look and live.”

“Look and live,” my brother, live.

Look to Jesus now and live.

‘Tis recorded in His Word…

It is only that you “look and live.”

Look and live.

Look to Jesus now and live.

As always, there are venomous snakes out there slithering and hissing and biting, injecting their deadly venom into the world and, worst of all, into our hearts.

There’s so much poison flowing through our veins – fear, violence, wrath, greed, deceit.

There’s so much poison flowing through our veins, wreaking havoc and leading us along the way of death.

Fortunately, there is an antidote to this venom.

Look and live.

Look to Jesus now and live.

Today is the Fourth Sunday in Lent.

We are drawing close to Easter, a closeness symbolized by today’s switch of liturgical color from penitential purple to rejoicing rose.

We know that the path ahead will be difficult and dangerous. There really are poisonous snakes around.

But we can always look to Jesus and live.

We can be at the foot of the Cross and look in wonder at the Son of God who gives away his life, revealing the bottomless depth of God’s love for us, showing us what God is really like, showing us who we are meant to be.

Look and live.

And we can look to Jesus’ friends in the world right now – Jesus’ friends right here in our community – sacrificing so that the guests at the Community Crisis Center can wash and care for themselves properly – teaching our children the Way of God’s Love in Sunday School – making sandwiches for people we’ll never meet at Paul’s Place – gathering together to pray, worship, serve, and study, even though we come from different places and surely disagree about all kinds of things.

God loves the world so much - yes, even the snakes - God loves the world so much that the Son of God takes the worst that the world can dish out – rejection, cruelty, suffering, and death – the Son of God takes all of our deadly venom and triumphs.

So, no matter how many slithering and hissing and biting snakes are around, trying to inject their venom into our world and into us, we also triumph when we:

Look and live.

Look to Jesus now and live.

Amen.

Sacred People, Sacred Places

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 3, 2024

Year B: The Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 20:1-17

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 1:18-25

John 2:13-22

Sacred People, Sacred Places

Well, we are now just about halfway through the season of Lent.

So, if you haven’t yet chosen a Lenten discipline – something to take on or something to give up – there’s still time to get started.

And if your Lenten discipline has already fallen by the wayside, do not despair! There is still time to get back on track!

Lent, of course, began on Ash Wednesday.

And each Ash Wednesday is pretty much the same as the last – we follow the same ritual, say the same words.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

But this year, Ash Wednesday has been sticking with me more than usual.

I’m not sure why.

I think part of it is that I’ve been here a while now – we’ve been through a lot together, through life and death, through lots of baptisms and lots of funerals, too.

We’ve gotten to know each other – I feel close to you and, frankly, I don’t want to think of any of you dying.

I think I’m also more aware of how fragile we are, how fragile I am - how one wrong move, how one phone call or text, how one piece of bad news can seem to change everything.

We are dust, and to dust we shall return.

But we are not just any old dust.

We are dust loved by God – loved by God so much that God chose to become dust, too – to join us here in this dusty life, in and through Jesus Christ.

By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes us dusty people sacred.

By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes the earth, all of its dusty places, sacred.

Sacred people, sacred places.

About a week and a half ago, I made a very quick trip back home to Jersey City.

I saw my parents – who are doing fine and who say hi to all of you – and we had dinner with my sister. It was a very rare and special occurrence for just the four of us to be together – a reunion of my family’s “original cast.”

I also spent some time with my friend and mentor Lauren, who was the rector of the church where I served when I was first ordained.

Lauren taught me so much about what it means to be a priest and a pastor, about deep devotion to the church’s people and its ministries.

She was the one who revealed the importance of weekday prayer and worship, bathing the church walls in prayer, somehow making all the difference, even for people who never attend a weekday service.

The best parts of my priesthood I learned from Lauren.

And, before I returned to Maryland, I had breakfast with my friend Catherine.

Catherine was not a parishioner of my former church but she lived in the neighborhood and was deeply committed to the community.

She is also a super-talented chef.

One day, a little more than ten years ago now, she came to see me about possibly hosting a monthly community supper in our Parish Hall.

She wanted to call it “Stone Soup.”

And so that’s what we did.

Catherine wasn’t only particular about the food she prepared and served – she only used fresh and healthy ingredients – she also took great care with the finer points of hospitality, setting our parish hall tables with beautiful table cloths and little floral arrangements.

The thought had been that we would be feeding people who might not otherwise be eating that night, people without homes or food.

Some of those people did come but mostly it was neighborhood people, some parishioners – some families but a lot of people who had a place to live and enough food to eat but no one with whom to share it.

Our suppers offered not just good food for the belly, but community for the soul – the gift of breaking bread together, talking, laughing, communion.

While I was back home, I took the “long way,” driving around the city, trying to catch glimpses of places meaningful for me – the school and church where I learned about Jesus - the seemingly forsaken streets where violence is common, the corners we would bless and reclaim as sacred each Good Friday – the church where Sue and I entered the Episcopal Church and where I later served as Rector – and the waterfront with its views of the New York City skyline, both beautiful and painful.

Sacred people, sacred places.

For Jews of two thousand years ago, the Temple in Jerusalem was the most sacred place in the universe.

It was where, in a sense, God was believed to dwell.

It was where Jews came from near and far to make sacrifices, trying to keep their end of the Covenant with God.

And just like the church or any other institution, the Temple had a system, a way to keep things organized and functioning as designed.

The moneychangers played an important part in that system, exchanging coins bearing the image of the Roman emperor for coins free of graven images that could be used to purchase animals to be sacrificed by the priests.

And just like the church or any other institution, it was possible that the people who worked at the Temple lost sight of the big picture, got caught up in the daily business, forgetting its core mission.

Well, it certainly seems like that’s what Jesus thought had happened.

And he sure made quite a dramatic display that day in the Temple, fired up, disrupting that day’s business and worship, calling people back to prayer and worship that was more pure and holy.

The Gospel of John, which is what we heard today, was completed around the year 100 – seventy or so years after Jesus’ earthly lifetime – and thirty years after the Romans destroyed Jerusalem, burning down the Temple, destroying the holiest place on earth.

This was a cataclysm for the Jewish people, raising questions of survival, of how to adapt to life without Temple sacrifices, how to keep the Covenant without the priests slaughtering all those animals.

Eventually, Judaism evolved beyond the priests, keeping the Covenant through loving devotion and careful obedience to God’s Law.

And the early followers of Jesus, both Jews and Gentiles, came to understand that, for us, Jesus is the Temple – Jesus is the Person and Place of sacrifice and reconciliation – Jesus is the Temple that was destroyed and did indeed rise on the third day.

By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes us dusty people sacred – all of us here today, my parents and sister, my friends Lauren and Catherine, all the people out there going about their business maybe totally unaware of God’s love, all of us

By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes the earth, all of its dusty places, sacred – all of it, the church where I learned to be a priest, the parish hall where we broke bread, the street corners stained by blood and suffering, all of it.

Lent is just about halfway over.

Whether we haven’t even started or we’ve already slipped up, all of us can have a holy Lent if we remember this:

By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes us dusty people sacred.

By coming among us in and through Jesus, God makes the earth, all of its dusty places, sacred.

Sacred people, sacred places.

Amen.