Lectionary Poem: Sabbath

Lectionary Poem: Sabbath

God speaks through the lectionary,

I’m convinced.

Just when I am

exhausted

anxious

depressed

Lessons about

Sabbath.

Rest.

Even God took a break, and

commands us

to do likewise.

Set it all down:

regret

guilt

worry

dread

responsibility.

Set it all down.

Or, rather,

hand it over.

Hand it over

to the One

who has

searched me out

and

known me.

Rest.

Set it all down.

Hand it over.

Year B, Proper 4: The Second Sunday after Pentecost 

June 2, 2024 

Deuteronomy 5:12-15

Psalm 139: 1-5, 12-17

The God Who Does Not Fall Apart

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 26, 2024

Year B: The First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday

Isaiah 6:1-8

Psalm 29

Romans 8:12-17

John 3:1-17

The God Who Does Not Fall Apart

I’ve mentioned to you before that I’ve always been a pretty avid reader – a fact that I’ve been reminded of each time we’ve moved.

All those heavy boxes of books!

Although I read a lot, I’ve very rarely reread a book, even books that I love.

Sometimes I consider revisiting an old favorite, but then I always think of all the books that I want to read but haven’t gotten to, yet – and how there’s only so much time to read.

Actually…there’s only so much time. Period.

But one of the very few books that I have reread, several times, in fact, is the novel Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe.

Have any of you read it?

Things Fall Apart is set in the late 19th Century, among the Igbo people in what is today Nigeria.

The novel begins by giving us a glimpse into everyday life in an Igbo village, where people’s lives were shaped by the seemingly timeless rhythms of sowing and reaping, births and deaths, war and peace.

This way of life is upended by the arrival of the British, who gradually but steadily introduce and impose their rules, their culture, and, yes, their religion.

A way of life that had once seemed to be as permanent as the sunrise and sunset, turns out to be quite fragile and fleeting.

        For some, this change will be beneficial (like every culture, the Igbo had their injustices and cruelties), while for others it will be devastating, catastrophic.

Things fall apart.

Each time I’ve revisited this book, I’ve gotten something else, something more, from it, probably because each time I’ve brought more years behind me, more and different life experiences, more losses – a deeper and sobering awareness that things do indeed fall apart.

I suppose that this is always true but right now it certainly feels like we are in a falling apart time, doesn’t it?

The horrific wars in Ukraine and Gaza and in smoldering hot spots all around the world, threaten to spark even wider and more destructive conflicts.

In our country, institutions and norms that once at least seemed rock solid are now looking wobbly, fragile, easily manipulated and broken. 

And once things get broken, we all know that it’s hard to put them back together again.

And in our own lives, some of us are facing illness or a rupture in our families. Some are worrying over the loss of a job. And some of us continue to grieve the death of one we love.

And some of us are preparing as best we can for change: transition, retirement, getting ready for kids leaving the nest or for a move halfway across the country, to start over yet again, to become part of a new community.

Things fall apart.

And since things do fall apart, it’s important that we focus on what is forever.

It’s essential that we hold onto the One who is forever.

Today is the First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday.

It’s the one day of the year when we are specifically invited and encouraged to reflect on the inner life of God – God who is One in Three Persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The Trinity is difficult to grasp, of course, and lots of people have wasted much ink and expended plenty of hot air trying to “explain” it.

In fact, in Things Fall Apart, one character describes the Trinity as “madness.”

But the Trinity is not madness.

And the Trinity is not a puzzle to solve.

No, the Trinity is a mystery to ponder and to celebrate.

And whenever I reflect on the Trinity, I’m awestruck by the idea that God is in fact community. 

        Somehow, this is what God is: a Perfect Community of Love.

        And, as if that weren’t mind-blowing enough, we – you and I – all of us – are invited to be part of this Perfect Community of Love.

        Some early theologians described the Trinity as a dance – and you and I – don’t worry, it doesn’t matter whether we can dance or not - we are all invited to join in.

        In today’s gospel lesson we heard the familiar words of John 3:16, reminding us that God loves the world – loves the world enough to send the Second Person of the Trinity, to send the Son, to live among us, to save us.

        God loves our falling apart world.

        God loves each of us.

        And so, Isaiah with his unclean lips, he’s invited to join the dance.

        And well-educated Nicodemus who wasn’t quite ready to fully commit to Jesus, who came to Jesus under the cover of dark, not really understanding or not ready to accept the new life offered by Jesus, he’s invited to the party, too.

        And all of us, no matter how many years there are behind us or how much time is ahead of us, no matter our political leanings, no matter how much or how little money we’ve got socked away, no matter how many mistakes we’ve made, no matter how much of our lives has fallen apart, all of us are invited by the God Who is a Perfect Community of Love, to dance with God forever.

        And that dance doesn’t begin in heaven.

        No, that dance begins now.

        And what might that choreography look like?

        Well, as some of you know, our much-loved parishioners Bob and Carla Kenyon are preparing to make a big move to Kansas.

        I’m happy for them, I guess, but I sure am sad for us.

        It’s bittersweet, for sure, but I’m trying to focus on the sweet part.

        And I don’t know what went on before, but during their years at St. Thomas’, Bob and Carla have certainly accepted God’s invitation to the dance:

        Sharing with us their musical gifts.

        Caring for the environment and urging us to do likewise.

        Pushing us to adapt more modern technology, new ways to stay connected, new ways to share the Good News.

        Welcoming new friends from a faraway land, inviting them over to the house, even driving one of them back and forth to work for many months.

        Walking past the handful of headstones outside the churchyard wall and wondering, and asking, who are these people and why are they here?

        Yes, during their time here with us, Bob and Carla have accepted God’s invitation to the dance.

         And I have no doubt that they will go right on dancing – and singing - with God in the highlands of Kansas.

        So, I’m sorry to say that things fall apart, and they will go right on falling apart.

        So, we have to keep rereading and retelling the story of God and us.

        And it is essential that we hold on to God the Holy Trinity, God Who is a Perfect Community of Love.

        Let’s keep on dancing with the God who will never let go of us, the God who does not fall apart.

        Amen.

Lectionary Poem: The One Who Does Not Fall Apart

Lectionary Poem: The One Who Does Not Fall Apart

A character in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart

describes the Trinity as

“madness.”

It is madness, I suppose.

How can anything or Anyone be

One and Three, both?

And yet.

It’s the harder road to

believe and preach

such madness.

And yet.

The world does seem to be falling apart,

after all.

Wars and fears of wars.

Our high ideals, disposed of swiftly,

without shame.

And yet.

Maybe there is a One and Three

who does not fall apart.

Maybe there is a One and Three

who is perfect community,

a timeless dance.

Loving our falling apart world.

Inviting Isaiah and Nicodemus

and all of us

to new life.

Year B: The First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday 

May26, 2024 

Isaiah 6:1-8

John 3:1-17

Propelling Us from Fear to Faith

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 19, 2024

Year B: The Day of Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21

Psalm 104:25-35, 37

Romans 8:22-27

John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

Propelling Us from Fear to Faith

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

It’s hard to believe, but it’s been fifty days already since Easter Day.

Fifty days since Charlotte and her daughter Rose were baptized together, one of the all-time most joyful baptisms, for sure.

Fifty days since our church was packed with people – people we see all the time, people we don’t see very often, and people we’ve never seen before – all here to celebrate the best news ever – that death has been defeated forever – that new life has dawned:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

And so, for the past fifty days, we’ve been reflecting on the Resurrection, thinking about what this New Life means for us, individually, and together as a community.

And lately I’ve been wondering… what do you make of all this?

I can’t see inside your hearts – I can’t read your minds. 

Well, not usually, anyway!

So, what do you make of all this?

Is it just a fanciful story cooked up by people who couldn’t or wouldn’t accept that Jesus had been killed?

Or maybe it’s all a metaphor? Not something rooted in historical experience but a tale that points to deeper truths: that God is always creating new life – the new life we see in nature, especially this time of year – the new life that we experience in our own lives.

I don’t know what you make of all this.

But I’ll tell you what strengthens my faith.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, if I were writing the Easter story, the Risen Jesus would no longer bear the wounds of the Cross.

They would have been wonderfully erased.

A much better look, I think, right?

But that’s not how the story goes.

The truth is that the Risen Jesus continues to carry the scars of suffering into his new life, still bears his wounds, even in heaven.

That feels true to me because it matches my experience, our experiences.

With God’s help, we move forward into new life. But the scars remain, reminding us of what we have endured, reminding us of strength that we might not have even known we have, reminding us of how far we have come.

Another thing that feels very true to me is that, as usual, the disciples are a mess.

Again, not the way I would’ve written the story.

I would have made the disciples heroes, overjoyed by the best news of all time. Once they had seen the Risen Jesus, they would now have more than enough courage to get out into the world and spread the word.

But that’s not how it went down.

Instead, as we’ve heard during the Easter Season, the disciples are still fearful and confused, they don’t always recognize Jesus, and at least one doubts that any good news is possible.

And in today’s first lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples are still together, still in one place, waiting – waiting for the strength and courage, at last, to get out of the house and into the world.

And today we remember what – or, rather, Who – gives them that strength and courage.

On the first Pentecost, the disciples received the gift of the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit is like a gust of wind, like tongues of flame.

And the Spirit propelled the disciples out into the world, able to share the Good News in ways so that everyone could understand, so fired up that people thought they must have been day-drinking, setting off a wave of love that would eventually crest all around the world.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

So, I don’t know what you make of all this.

But what I know is that a group of frightened and confused people with not the best track record were transformed into bold messengers, risking and, in many cases, sacrificing, their lives to let people know about Jesus.

I don’t think that “just happened.”

No, that’s the power of the Holy Spirit.

Over the past few days, I’ve been thinking about the power of the Holy Spirit, and not just because I knew we would be celebrating Pentecost today.

First, as some of you know, it was my birthday the other day.

And, especially as the years start to pile up, birthdays get me thinking about the improbable journey that I’ve been on, all the unexpected twists and turns that have brought me to this point, to this place.

So, I was already in a reflective mood when we had a couple of unexpected guests at last week’s 10:00 service:

Althea Maynard and her daughter Patrice (and later they were joined by other family members).

I had no idea they would be here.

It was a wonderful surprise.

The Maynard Family have been pillars of our former church, St. Paul’s in Jersey City, for decades.

Althea has served in just about every leadership role at the church, from Senior Warden to running the summer camp.

Patrice grew up at St. Paul’s and when I was Rector she was Senior Warden, certainly the youngest one in the Diocese of Newark at that time, and maybe ever.

Sue and I were members of St. Paul’s long before I was ordained, so we’ve known Althea and Patrice and their family for about 25 years – that’s a lot of history – we’ve been through funerals and baptisms, death and life, together.

Thinking about Althea and Patrice and our long history together, I remembered something – a particular event – that I haven’t thought about in years.

After Sue and I had been members at St. Paul’s for a while, I began to sense a call to the priesthood. I had thought about that when I was younger, but it just hadn’t felt right somehow.

But I came to believe that maybe I was being called now.

It was hard to know for sure, though, because I certainly liked being a teacher and I enjoyed teaching at my alma mater with a lot of good friends.

Following this call would be inconvenient and risky, it would mean leaving the classroom where I taught and going to seminary, becoming a student again.

Plus, the road to ordination is long and winding with lots of tests and requirements and hurdles.

One Saturday morning, I had to head out to the diocesan headquarters in Newark for a conference where I would be asked lots of rather personal questions about my spiritual life, my sense of call to the priesthood. And then the people asking those questions would make a recommendation about me to the bishop:

Yes, No, or Not Yet.

So, early on that morning, I went to the station to take the short train ride between Jersey City and Newark.

I’m always early for everything, especially big stuff like this, so it must have been pretty early in the morning.

As I came down the escalator, my stomach churning with nerves and uncertainty, I looked across the nearly deserted platform and who happened to be standing there but Althea and Patrice.

I don’t know why they were there so early. They certainly didn’t know they would run into me. But just seeing my fellow parishioners, my friends, who had been so supportive of me calmed me down, settled my stomach, gave me the sense that I was on the right track, that God was with me, no matter what.

That morning on the train platform, there was no gust of wind and no tongues like flame, but I could feel the power of the Holy Spirit, propelling me forward, from fear to faith, forward to that conference in Newark, forward to seminary and ordination, forward, eventually, to be here with all of you.

The power of the Holy Spirit.

And now, after fifty Alleluia-filled days, the Easter Season draws to a close.

But the power of the Holy Spirit continues gusting through this old holy place.

We’ll feel the power of the Holy Spirit this afternoon when nine of our parishioners are confirmed by Bishop Carrie.

We feel the power of the Holy Spirit strengthening our bonds to each other, drawing new people to our community and holding us close to those we see no longer.

We feel the Holy Spirit giving us strength to take on new work, forming new partnerships with our neighbors.

We feel the Holy Spirit comforting us as we grieve who and what we’ve lost, as we nurse our wounds and carry our scars, and as we face a future yet unwritten.

I don’t know what you make of all this, but I hope that you can feel it.

I hope that you can feel the power of the Holy Spirit, propelling us forward, propelling from fear to faith.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Lectionary Poem: Hoping For What I've Seen

Lectionary Poem: Hoping For What I’ve Seen

Long ago,

Paul wrote to Rome, asking,

rhetorically, I guess,

“Who hopes for what is seen?”

I wonder if any of the Romans

answered,

“I do!”

It seems like

when things happen that I haven’t seen,

they’re terrible:

Diagnosis

Attack

Insurrection

(Maybe a sign of age?

I’m writing on my birthday.)

No, Paul, I’ll hope for what I’ve seen,

what I’ve felt,

thank you very much.

An old woman, awoke from stupor,

turned to me

and said:

“I never knew I could love my children so much.”

A not very old but so very sick woman 

said:

“I used to ask, ‘Why me?’

But now I ask, ‘Why not me?’”

So, Paul, respectfully,

I’ll hope for what I’ve seen,

what I’ve felt, sometimes,

thank you (God, actually) very much,

        Gifts of the Spirit:

Contentment

Forgiveness

Love

Year B: The Day of Pentecost 

May 19, 2024 

Romans 8:22-27 

Jesus Is Praying Beside Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 12, 2024

Year B: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Psalm 1

1 John 5:9-13

John 17: 6-10

Jesus Is Praying Beside Us

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Here in church, especially when things really click, we get a little glimpse, a small foretaste, of heaven.

Last Sunday’s 10:00 service was one of those times.

We baptized a beautiful and happy baby, radiant little Phoebe, with a church full of people serving as her witnesses, promising to be her spiritual supporters, celebrating as she was grafted onto the True Vine of Jesus, forever.

I mean, a Baptism alone would have been enough, right?

But there were also so many people here, people we’ve known forever, people we only recently met, and people here for the first time.

The music was gorgeous as always.

We acknowledged our impressive young people who are graduating this year.

We celebrated the goodness of creation - yes, even the rainy days that spoil our plans.

We grieved with those who’ve lost a loved one.

We gathered at the Table, receiving the Bread and the Wine, becoming one with Jesus.

We had cake to celebrate our grads – and it was delicious!

And, of course, we prayed.

We prayed a lot, actually.

We prayed for the sick and the dead, and we prayed for peace, peace in our broken and bloodstained world, peace in our own communities and homes.

Last Sunday really gave us a glimpse, a foretaste of heaven - all of us together, singing, one with Jesus, eating dessert, and praying.

Then, a few days after our Sunday celebrations, we had another near-heavenly encounter.

This one was smaller and quieter. It was just five of us gathered in the Old School Building on Thursday morning to celebrate Ascension Day.

According to St. Luke, forty days after the Resurrection, Jesus gathered one last time with his disciples and he was then “lifted up and a cloud took him out of their sight.”

And so, every year, forty days after Easter, the Church remembers and celebrates this mysterious event that is depicted in the beautiful stained glass behind me.

As Jesus vanished from their sight, the still-traumatized disciples must have felt abandoned yet again. 

But it’s not true.  They – we – are not abandoned.

We are given the Holy Spirit to guide us.

But we’ll talk about that next week.

And we’re also not abandoned because we still have Jesus.

        Jesus prayed a lot during his earthly lifetime – we heard one of his most intense prayers in today’s gospel lesson – and Jesus is still praying. 

You know, I’m just like you. I don’t always remember the sermons that I’ve heard.

Sometimes I don’t even remember my own sermons!

But one sermon – or at least one part of a sermon – that I do remember is the one preached by the bishop when I was ordained a deacon.

He spoke directly to the four of us being ordained that day and he said:

“We pay you to pray.”

Honestly, in the moment, I wasn’t sure what I thought about that statement.

“We pay you to pray.”

And all these years later, I’m still not sure.

But obviously, I’ve never forgotten it.

In fact, I’ve thought about those words many times over the years, especially when, probably like a lot of you and, I bet, if they’re being honest, like a lot of other clergy, too, I haven’t carved out enough time to pray – there’s always so much stuff to do! 

        I’ve thought about the bishop’s words – “We pay you to pray” - when my prayers have seemed weak or halfhearted - when I’ve been distracted or anxious, just not paying as much attention as I should.

I think, “They’re really not getting their money’s worth.”

Sometimes, I just throw in the towel and say to myself, oh, I’ll get back to praying later, when things have quieted down – although, in my heart, and as the wardens and church staff and anyone who reads the announcements knows, things around here never seem to really quiet down.

But, fortunately, sometimes I remember that it’s not all about me, it’s not all on me.

        God already knows what’s in my heart, knows me better than I know myself. 

        And, not only that, but Jesus in heaven is praying – praying with more power and honesty and insight than I’ll ever be able to muster.

And so, when my prayers seem to be going nowhere, I try to imagine Jesus praying beside me.

And sometimes, I sort of hand things over to Jesus, asking him to take the prayers that I want to say, that I wish I could say, and offer them on my behalf.

We pray to Jesus.

Jesus prays for us.

And Jesus even prays beside us.

Which is a very good thing because, especially these days, we certainly need prayer, don’t we?

One of the great privileges and heavy responsibilities of being a professional pray-er is that people often share with me their most cherished hopes and deepest fears.

And, yes, of course, I’m often asked to pray - pray for this person I love so much, pray that this estrangement can end, pray that she finds a job, pray that I find the strength to face this awful thing, pray that I make the right decision, pray that the doctors can figure out and fix whatever’s wrong with me, pray that I can forgive, pray that he stops drinking.

        Please pray.

The bishop was right. You really do pay me to pray.

And, lately, the prayer requests have been really pouring in.

It’s a hard time for many of us and, I won’t run down the list, but we all know that it’s a hard time for our land and for the world.

So, as always, but especially in a time of trouble, this is the place to be, the place to belong – this is the place where we get a glimpse, a foretaste, of heaven.

And, whether you’re getting paid for it or not, this is a good time to pray – to pray for new life, pray for the sick and the dying and the dead, pray for the church, pray for peace around the world and in our own communities and homes.

Yes, our prayers may falter, may seem to be just not enough.

        But don’t worry about that.

        Remember that the ascended Jesus is praying for us in heaven.

        Remember that Jesus is praying beside us.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Our Time and God's Time

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 11, 2014

The Funeral of James Hauff

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Psalm 23

John 14:1-6a

Our Time and God’s Time

On behalf of all of us here at St. Thomas’, I want to begin by offering my condolences to Manigeh and to all of you, Jim’s family and friends.

Please know that we are always here for you, ready to offer any support that we can.

I also want to say that it is a privilege to be here today and to offer a few words.

I didn’t know Jim, but I feel like I’ve gotten to know him, thanks to conversations with Manigeh and with Barb.

And to be frank, hearing about this remarkably kind and talented man has made me feel, well, shortchanged.

I wish that we had had the opportunity – had the time – to meet and get to know each other.

So, this morning, I’d like to talk a little bit about time.

The first passage of scripture that we heard this morning, from the Book of Ecclesiastes, is all about time, right?

“A time to be born, and a time to die.”

“A time to weep and a time to laugh.”

“A time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

The author of Ecclesiastes is trying to make two points.

One is that God determines time and timing.

But the other is that we have some say in time and timing, too.

We don’t have any control over when we are born but we do have plenty of opportunities to shape how we use the time we’ve been given.

So, perhaps, God chose the time for Jim and Manigeh to meet at CareFirst, way back in 1985.

But it was up to Jim and Manigeh on how to use this opportunity.

One day in the copy room (I love this story!) it was up to Jim to work up the courage to ask Manigeh out on a date and it was up to Manigeh to decide on her response, to take a chance, or not.

        “A time to love.”

        “A time to embrace.”

        Or not.

        Everything I’ve learned about Jim tells me that he was someone who placed a great value on time – punctuality, yes, but more than that, using time wisely.

        I’m sure the ticking threat of disease focused his attention, driving him to make the most of his time.

        And that’s exactly what he did, right?

        Building a beautiful life with Manigeh, relishing as much art as he could, and, of course, giving himself so generously to so many good works, including his many hours of volunteering here at St. Thomas’.

        Jim knew that time is not a renewable resource, so he used his time as wisely as he could, carefully and selflessly.

        The kind of time I’ve been talking about is called Chronos - chronological time, the one thing after another kind of time that shapes our calendars and much of our lives.

        But there is another kind of time called Kairos – that’s God’s time – it’s the kind of time in which past, present, and future lose their distinction.

        We get little tastes of Kairos every now and then.

        Maybe it’s when we ponder a beautiful painting or listen to gorgeous music.

        Maybe it’s when we gaze into the eyes of the one we love or feel the warmth of an embrace. 

        Maybe it’s in those moments when it feels like Jim is right here, right there, in the corner of our eye, just beyond our vision.

        We ‘re experiencing Kairos right now, here in this holy place, mysteriously united with all those who have gone before, whose feet have worn down the threshold you crossed when you entered this room, united with those who have bathed these old walls with prayers. 

        And somehow, here, we are united even with those who are yet to come.

        For now, we just get little tastes of Kairos, of God’s time.

        But our brother Jim has stepped into God’s time, forever.

        We’ll get there, too, someday.

        But for now, may we follow Jim’s example and use our time wisely, here and now, offering love and service.

        Amen.

Lectionary Poem: Springtime Prayer

Lectionary Poem: Springtime Prayer

leaves extend their reach 

  Jesus prays for joy, safety

trees rooted, not us

Year B: The Seventh Sunday of Easter

May 12, 2024 

John 17:6-19

Radiant With Love

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 5, 2024

Year B: The Sixth Sunday of Easter

The Baptism of Phoebe Anne Shellhammer 

Acts 10:44-48

Psalm 98

Romans 16

John 15:9-17

Radiant With Love

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

If you were here last week, you may remember that we heard Jesus describe himself as the Vine – as the True Vine – and we, his disciples, are the branches.

And Jesus the True Vine called us to abide – to belong.

And now in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we pick up right where we left off last Sunday.

Jesus drops the metaphor and speaks plainly, speaks commandingly:

To abide with Jesus is to love one another as he loves us.

To belong to Jesus is to give away our lives in service to others, just as Jesus gave away his life for us.

Jesus’ message is a simple one – love and service – simple but very challenging – so challenging that, especially in a world shadowed by fear and greed and violence, we might think it’s impossible.

Well, fortunately, the history of the Church is full of examples of people – women and men – who took Jesus at his word and really did it, really loved and sacrificed wholeheartedly. 

Recently, I read a good book about some of these people. The book is called Tell Her Story and it’s about the women of the New Testament.

Because Jesus and the Twelve Apostles were all men, and because men dominated the leadership of the Church for so long, it might be easy for us to forget the important, essential, roles played by women, both in Jesus’ earthly lifetime and during the early years of the Church.

There’s Mary the Mother of Jesus, of course, whose courageous and faithful “yes” set in motion the Good News and the salvation of the world.

And at the other end of the story, there’s Mary Magdalene, who encountered the Risen Christ in the garden, was called by name, and carried the best news of all time to the others.

There are the sisters Mary and Martha, who loved Jesus and supported him and his work.

There are also the unnamed but important women like the Samaritan woman at the well and the Syrophoenician woman desperate to save her daughter’s life, so determined that she’s speaks up to Jesus, reminding him that even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.

And, later on, women played important roles in the foundation of the Church.

Sometimes, St. Paul gets labeled as a misogynist but, in fact, he had women co-workers. He mentions at least some of them by name in his letters, offering his gratitude and respect.

And one of those co-workers was a woman named Phoebe.

Phoebe – whose name means “bright, shining, radiant” – is mentioned just once, in the short passage that we heard today from Paul’s Letter to the Romans.

But there’s a lot packed into those few words of introduction.

Phoebe was a deacon - a minister in her hometown, a seaport near the important Greek city of Corinth.

Phoebe probably hosted a house church in her own home.

She was a generous supporter – a benefactor - of Paul and other Jesus followers, indicating that she was a woman of some means.

And, most noteworthy of all, Paul entrusted Phoebe to carry his most important letter all the way from Greece to the Christian community in Rome.

This was a big deal.

Rome was the capital city, of course, with a large population, plus there would have always been lots of visitors passing through. 

The Christian community in Rome was founded very early, but not by Paul.

In fact, at the time he wrote his letter, Paul hadn’t been there yet.

No doubt, the Roman Christians had heard about Paul and maybe some of what they heard about him and his teaching had puzzled them.

So, for Paul and the early church, the Letter to the Romans was most important.

Now, back in the first century, there was no postal system, so if you wanted to send a letter over a great distance, you had to find someone reliable, someone willing and able to travel far.

But the letter-carrier’s role, Phoebe’s role, was more than just transporting, and then dropping off, a letter.

She may have read Paul’s letter to those Roman Christians, and probably interpreted it for them– and if you’ve ever read this particularly complex letter, you know that was no easy task!

She probably responded to the questions and comments from the church in Rome and eventually brought those replies back to Paul.

All we know about Phoebe is what’s contained in those few words written by Paul in his Letter to the Romans and that we heard today.

But that’s probably enough, because we know that she was a woman of faith, a woman of generosity, a woman of courage, a woman of intelligence, and a woman worthy of trust.

Phoebe must have radiated love and service. 

I wanted to talk about Phoebe today because this morning I’ll have the privilege of baptizing another Phoebe.

What a wonderful name: “bright, shining, radiant.” 

        And what a tremendous legacy and inspiration for our Phoebe to carry through life.

        In a few moments, our Phoebe will be washed in the water of Baptism, like the earlier Phoebe, long ago.

        In the water of Baptism, Phoebe will be grafted onto the True Vine of Jesus, finding the place to belong, forever.

        And, just like both Phoebes, past and present, in and through our Baptism we are all called to follow Jesus’ command to love and serve one another, to live lives of faith, generosity, and trustworthiness.

        Back in the first century, the world was shadowed by fear and greed and violence.

        Just like today.

        Phoebe made her way in and through that harsh world, offering love and service - costly love and generous service.

        And now today, with God’s help, it’s our turn.

        For us, love and service probably won’t require carrying a letter to a faraway land.

        But, just like Phoebe, we’re called to be faithful, generous, and trustworthy. 

        The details will look a little different for each of us.

        But, when the world shudders with fear, let’s offer love and service.

        When the world grabs as much as it can, let’s offer love and service.

        When the world slashes and destroys, let’s offer love and service.

        Jesus commands us to love and serve one another, as he has loved and served us.

        In a difficult time, Phoebe obeyed that command.

        In this difficult time, may our Phoebe, may all of us, be radiant with love.

        Alleluia! Christ is risen!

        The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        Amen.