As God Meant for Things to Be

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 28, 2024

Year B, Proper 12: The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

2 Samuel 11:1-15

Psalm 14

Ephesians 3:14-21

John 6:1-21

As God Meant for Things to Be

If you’ve been here over the past couple of Sundays, you may remember that I’ve been reflecting a little bit on how we ended up in this seemingly divided moment in our country’s history.

It’s difficult to talk about because it requires carefully sidestepping partisan politics. 

But, since nobody seems to have gotten mad and you all keep coming back for more, I guess I’m doing OK!

Thinking about our current situation, I’ve suggested that a big part of our problem is distraction – we’re distracted by the relentless buzzing and pinging of our phones – we’re distracted by the relentless 24-hour news cycle, the media doing everything possible to keep us frightened and angry and divided, our eyes glued to the tube, blood pressure rising.

Meanwhile, we just don’t know each other anymore.

Someone pointed out that porches used to be built on the front of houses so neighbors could sit out and call to each other.

But now, the porches are located on the rear of houses, for privacy, for quiet, for separation.

And when we don’t know each other, we’re likely to mistrust one another, assuming the worst, not really caring about our neighbors, especially people who are different from us, people we may only see through the distorted images on our screens.

And when we don’t know each other and don’t care about each other, we’re likely to assume that there’s just not enough for everybody – that for me to win, you’ve got to lose – and so we all race to the bottom, playing a zero-sum game with few, if any, real winners.

Thinking about this mess, I was reminded of a quote by Dorothy Day, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement nearly a century ago and one of my spiritual heroes.

Dorothy Day said, “God meant for things to be much easier than we have made them.”

“God meant for things to be much easier than we have made them.”

And part of the reason why God came into the world in and through Jesus, is to remind us of how God meant for things to be – to remind us of who we were always meant to be.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we heard the familiar story of Jesus feeding the multitudes, the multiplication of the loaves and the fishes.

People – lots and lots of people – have been following Jesus.

They’ve been hungry for his healing, hungry for his teaching, hungry for hope.

But now, all these people, they’re just plain hungry.

I love the opening of this story, when Jesus coyly asks Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for all these people to eat?”

Although Philip should’ve known better by now, he’s seems to be stuck in the scarcity mindset of the world – I mean, there’s just not enough money to feed all these people – there’s just not enough, right?

Andrew finds a boy with five barley loaves and two fish, but, come on, let’s be real, there’s no way that this can be enough.

What Philip and Andrew haven’t realized is that, with Jesus, there is always abundance.

And maybe we haven’t realized that, either.

Or maybe we just forget.

Well, you heard the rest of the story.

Turns out there’s enough food for everybody – there’s way more than enough – twelve baskets of leftovers.

This is the only one of Jesus’ miracles recorded in all four gospels.

The miraculous multiplication obviously made a big impression on the early church.

        But it’s not just that.

        You may know that John’s gospel doesn’t describe Jesus’ acts of healing and power as miracles. They are more important than just acts of wonder.

John says that they are signs - signs pointing to a deeper truth.

        And this story of more than enough points something essential about who Jesus is and what Jesus offers us.

With Jesus, there is always abundance.

And this – this abundant life – this world where there is enough for everybody – this garden where there is more than enough for everybody – this is the way God always meant things to be.

Today is the last Sunday of July.

The days are becoming noticeably shorter - summer seems to be flying by as always.

But for me, the last Sunday in July has extra meaning, because three years ago this was my first Sunday here at St. Thomas’.

And because we follow a three-year cycle of Bible readings, today’s readings were the readings that we read and heard together here on that memorable day.

I don’t usually look back at my old sermons, but I did pull up what I said three years ago.

Then as now, I dodged our first lesson, the disturbing and sordid tale of David and Bathsheba.

Don’t worry, I’ll talk about that next week, just like I did three years ago.

But, sure enough, I did speak about the abundance here at St. Thomas – the abundance that was already obvious to me after being here for just a few days – the abundance of natural beauty all around us – the abundance of leadership and generosity that had held this church together during the grim and frightening days of the pandemic – the abundance of faith that inspired people to keep praying and worshiping together, even over Zoom – and the abundance of hospitality extended to Sue and me, a couple of strangers from Jersey City.

Three years ago, I spoke about the abundance here at St. Thomas’ but, of course, I didn’t really know.

I had had only an inkling of just how much abundance is here.

But now, after three years, I think of the countless hours so many of you give to the work of the church – supporting ministries from the Acolytes to the Zoom Bible Study.

I think of the way we welcomed our Afghan friends and how a committed group of parishioners continue to care for them, quietly and patiently.

I think of the way we console one another in times of sorrow – all those prayers, all those calls and cards, all those meals and quilts.

I think about the amazing talent and tireless dedication of our staff, the many ways they support all of us, most especially me.

I think of doing the demanding work of learning as much as we can about the North Cemetery, about the people buried there, and committing ourselves to remembering and honoring them.

I think of Courtney DeVeau and Remington Brooks inviting the whole parish to their wedding last year, and now today we celebrate the birth on Friday of their son, Henry Frederick Brooks – oh yes, yet another baptism on the horizon!

I think of parishioners taking the chance to talk about the tough topic of race and racism – gathering week after week for Sacred Ground, and about 50 of us getting together just a couple of weeks ago to watch Origin and to have a frank and challenging conversation.

I think of us sitting around the Parish Hall to plan our funerals – not an easy thing – just about the last thing anybody wants to talk about – but having a ridiculous amount of fun, because we were together and we know we are loved and we know God won’t let go of us, no matter what.

I think of how we’re still not done finding ways to be a servant church, how an incredibly generous parishioner gave $10,000 so we can start an afterschool program over at Owings Mills Elementary School – and who knows what God will do with that opportunity!

I could go on all day – I haven’t even mentioned all the amazing new people God has sent us – I could go on all day but the Search Committee made it clear to me that our service should not be longer than an hour.

But the point is this: with Jesus, there is always abundance.

And we don’t need to hear a long-ago story of loaves and fishes to know that.

Jesus is here at St. Thomas’, feeding us so well, making this is a place of abundance.

Jesus is here at St. Thomas’, here in this (mostly) phone-free zone, here with all kinds of different people with lots of different points of view, all of us praying and loving and serving together.

Jesus is here at St. Thomas’, giving us a glimpse – an extraordinarily beautiful glimpse of how God has always meant for things to be – an extraordinarily beautiful glimpse of who we were always meant to be.

Thank you, Jesus.

And thank you, all.

Amen.

The Only House God Wants

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 21, 2024

Year B, Proper 11: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

2 Samuel 7:10-14a

Psalm 89:20-27

Ephesians 2:11-22

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The Only House God Wants

So, it turns out that planning your own funeral can actually be a lot of fun.

Who knew?

Last Sunday, after the 10:00 service, about forty of us gathered in the Parish Hall and had a great time talking about Christian funerals and at least beginning to consider lessons and hymns and all the many details that go into the service.

(Don’t worry if you missed out – we’ll do it again in December.)

I pointed out to the group that funerals are evangelism opportunities – and I invited everyone to consider including Holy Communion in our funerals.

We all know that there are lots of people – including many of our own family members and friends – who are turned off by church.

(Not necessarily this church specifically, but “church” in general.)

And often they have good reasons.

The loudest Christian voices in our country tend to be mean and judgmental and hypocritical.

And we all know that the church has been stained and discredited by abuse, corruption, and exclusion.

So, a lot of people stay away – they stay as far away as possible.

But they do still come to funerals.

So, each time we have a funeral, my hope is that we will offer something that is beautiful and meaningful and authentic – and not crazy – something that will get at least one or two people who’ve been away to say, “You know, that was great. I’ve missed that. Maybe I’ll give church another try.”

And a big part of that beautiful, meaningful, and authentic offering is Holy Communion.

For people who’ve been away from church, who’ve been alienated by church, I think hearing our invitation to Communion – that all are welcome – that it’s not necessary to be an Episcopalian or a member of St. Thomas’ – hearing that kind of welcome can be quite powerful.

And way more powerful than the invitation is actually receiving the Body and Blood of Christ – taking Jesus into our body and soul – into our heart.

And our heart is the only house God wants.

If you’ve been in church for the past few weeks, you may remember that we’ve been hearing about the rise of King David.

In today’s lesson from Second Samuel, David’s enemies have been defeated.

He’s firmly in command of his kingdom and he’s living in a house made of cedar – then, as now, an expensive building material.

(We have the bills for our church’s new cedar shake roof to prove it!)

Well, to his credit, David realizes that there’s something off about him living in a nice house made of cedar while the Ark of the Covenant – understood to be the very presence of God – was living in… a tent.

So, David decides that he’s going to build a house for God – and the Prophet Nathan wholeheartedly approves the plan.

But it turns out that God has other ideas.

God has been on the move since the Israelites were in the Sinai wilderness during their long exodus from Egypt – and God is not interested in being kept in a house built by David.

In fact, God turns the tables on David.

God says, you want to build me a house? No, I’ll build you a house – a royal dynasty that will reign forever.

Later, of course, David’s son Solomon will build a spectacular house for God – the Jerusalem Temple.

And although the Temple and the sacrifices that took place there were the center of Jewish life for centuries, there was always some ambivalence, some unease, about the Temple.

Some of the prophets – and later, Jesus himself – will criticize the Temple – reminding people that, instead of slaughtering lots of animals, what God really wants is a sacrifice of the heart.

As God says through the Prophet Isaiah:

“…cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.”

That’s the kind of sacrifice that God desires.

And our heart is the only house God wants.

Over the past week, I’ve had several conversations with parishioners who are understandably anxious about the state of our country and worried about where we’re headed.

And I’m right there with you.

And, I’m sure like a lot of you, I’ve been thinking about how we got here – and how we might heal some of our divisions, and soothe some of our anger, and calm some of our fears.

It seems to me that our country is suffering from a kind of spiritual heart disease.

Maybe it’s because of all our distracting gadgets, maybe it’s because we don’t really get to know each other anymore, I don’t know, but we seem to no longer care so much about each other – or, at least, that we don’t care about people who are different than we are, who believe different things, who see the world differently.

Instead, we assume the worst of each other.

We look for opportunities to score points – often cheap and dishonest shots - against the “other side.”

But this game is just a race to the bottom – a race with no winners at all.

Fortunately, we know the cure to spiritual heart disease.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark, we heard what happens before and after Jesus feeds the multitudes – the only miracle remembered in all four gospels – the miracle that we’ll hear about next week.

But what strikes me about what we heard today is that people are so hungry for Jesus – so hungry for Jesus that they follow him and his disciples into the wilderness – so hungry for healing that they brought their sick loved ones wherever he was – desperate for his healing touch.

I’m reminded of the people who come here after they’ve been away from the church for a while – the people come here for a funeral or on any given Sunday – the people who come here hungry for the Good Food – the people who hear the invitation to the Table and say yes.

We know the cure for spiritual heart disease – it’s offered here every Sunday.

We know the cure for spiritual heart disease – it’s offered here every week to anyone and everyone who is hungry.

We know the cure for spiritual heart disease – it’s taking Jesus into our bodies and souls – and, with God’s help, living lives of love and service.

We know the cure for spiritual heart disease – it’s welcoming God into our heart.

And our heart is the only house God wants.

Amen.

The Ultimate Ultimate Thing

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 14, 2024

Year B, Proper 10: The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19

Psalm 24

Ephesians 1:3-14

Mark 6:14-29

The Ultimate Ultimate Thing

As you know, because I’ve mentioned it like a thousand times, I grew up and lived most of my life in Jersey City, a medium-sized city just across the Hudson River from Manhattan.

And, while I try to project a tough, gritty, urban image, the truth is that I grew up in a neighborhood called… Country Village.

Country Village doesn’t sound like a very tough place. And it’s not.

Country Village was built in the early 1960s and was designed to be a little island of suburbia in the city, a way of convincing at least some people not to flee the city.

So, there are curving streets named for different kinds of trees, winding along a mix of standalone homes and rowhouses.

Actually, my old neighborhood looks a bit like Rodgers Forge, over in Towson.

Anyway, growing up in Country Village back in the 1970’s and early 80’s wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was pretty peaceful. And, looking back now, fifty years later, it seems downright old fashioned, even idyllic.

All of us kids walked back and forth to school.

In good weather, we rode our bikes through the neighborhood.

And during long and carefree summer days we played ball right out in the middle of the street, yelling out “Car! Car!’ when the occasional driver needed to interrupt our game.

Our parents would call us into the house for supper and, later, called us again to wrap it up when it began to grow dark.

I mention all this because almost two weeks ago, at the start of my second week of vacation, I returned to Country Village to pick up my parents – they still live in the house where my sister and I grew up - and bring them down here to stay with Sue and me for the rest of the week.

And on a perfect summer day, not very hot or humid at all, the kind of day that fifty years ago there would have been a bunch of kids out in that street yelling “Car!” when I turned the corner, on a day just like that, there wasn’t a soul outside. 

I wasn’t surprised – it’s been like this for years – but I wondered:

Where were all the neighborhood children?

Well, we probably know the answer, right?

I’m sure that most of them were inside their houses, inside their rooms, their eyes glued to computers, tablets, or phones.

 

None of this news – and it’s not limited to kids, either.

Our whole society seems designed to keep us distracted.

I mean, almost of all of us carry around little distraction machines in our pockets or purses, buzzing and pinging throughout the day and night.

Our attention spans have been ruined.

(I used to preach for half an hour!)

And we are distracted from what is most important – distracted from ultimate things.

In some ways, with our ability to constantly connect and scroll, this is a new problem.

But it’s also an old human story – we want to distract ourselves from ultimate things – to distract ourselves from God – distract ourselves from the wrong we may have done or the wrong done in our name – distract ourselves from the simple but hard truth that no one gets out of here alive.

Back in the first century, Herod Antipas was a member of a truly depraved royal family, who ruled parts of Israel, at the pleasure of the Romans.

His father, Herod the Great, so called, was the king who tried to use the Wise Men to find and kill the newborn King of the Jews – and when that didn’t work, he just slaughtered all the children born in Bethlehem around that time.

So you get the idea.

Herod Antipas was a chip off the old block, a great builder but also ruthless, taking whatever he wanted, including marrying his brother’s wife.

The firebrand prophet John the Baptist criticized Herod for that, infuriating the wife, and leading to the tragedy we heard today.

The royal birthday party was nothing more than a lavish distraction, a distraction that led to an ill-considered promise to give the dancing daughter whatever she wanted, a distraction that led to the gruesome death of the righteous John the Baptist.

No doubt, Herod went right on distracting himself with all the trappings of royal life and power, but those distractions don’t work forever.

And later, when the Righteous Jesus appears on the scene, did you hear the dread in Herod’s voice when he thinks that the spirit of John the Baptist has returned?

Ultimate Things.

        Yesterday evening we were all reminded, yet again, that we live in a country that is angry, violent, and seemingly so divided. 

        Seemingly so divided that, honestly, I hesitate to say anything about it.

        I will say that those distraction machines in our pockets aren’t helping matters.

        Since we really don’t know each other anymore, we assume the worst of each other.

        And our distraction machines and much of cable news deliberately misinform us and work really hard to keep us frightened, angry, and divided.

        Aside from switching the channel, I have no idea what to do about this.

        But I do know that it’s good for us to be part of a church, how blessed we are to be part of this church.

This is one of the few remaining places where we spend time – meaningful time – with people who are different than us – who come from different places, who have different ideas about all kinds of things – and yet we can and do pray and serve together – we can and do love one another – we can be, and often are, instruments of God’s peace.

And it’s probably not a coincidence that this is one of the few remaining places where we put away our phones. 

Well, most of us, anyway.

One of our newer parishioners has spoken about what a gift that is – to be here free of electronic distractions for an hour or so.

And I would add that another blessing of our distraction-free church is that it gets us thinking about ultimate things.

Why are we here?

What is our purpose?

And what happens after we die?

At a vestry meeting a while back, when I first mentioned the idea of offering an opportunity for parishioners to plan their funerals, there was some nervous laughter, and I got some strange looks.

Of course, I get that planning our funerals can seem morbid – it’s probably the last thing anyone wants to think about.

But, as I’ve mentioned to you, over the years I’ve sat with many grieving families who had no idea what their deceased loved one might have wanted – and so, anxiety and guilt and stress compound their grief.

And I’ve been really gratified by how positive – I know this sounds strange – how excited – so many of you have been about today’s event.

In fact, last week, one couple stopped by the office to purchase their cemetery plot.

They said they wanted to “beat the rush!”

I’d like to think the part of the reason why so many of us have been willing to look ahead and plan our funerals is that those of us who regularly attend church have a lot of practice in thinking about ultimate things.

Acknowledging our mortality isn’t overwhelming because we know the ultimate ultimate thing.

And no matter the violence, anger, and division all around us, we do not lose heart – we stick together - because we know the ultimate ultimate thing:

In our baptism, God has made an indissoluble, unbreakable, bond with us.

This holy bond of love is stronger than anything.

        Stronger than tyrants like Herod.

        Stronger than the sharpest blade, the most destructive bullet.

        And, because Jesus Christ is risen, we know that God’s holy bond with us is stronger than hate, stronger than anger, stronger than fear, stronger than death itself.

        God's holy and unbreakable bond with us is the ultimate ultimate thing.

        Amen.