Packing Our Bags

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 30, 2025

Year A: The First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm 122

Romans 13:11-14

Matthew 24:36-44

Packing Our Bags

You know, it’s rare that everything comes together just as you hoped, but that’s what happened on Monday night at our beautiful Interfaith Thanksgiving Service.

On the Monday night before Thanksgiving, lots of people (the official count was 148) journeyed from their homes out into the dark to gather here with people of other faiths, people with different ideas about all sorts of things, gathering because what unites us is way more important than what divides us, gathering because it is good for us to gather.

Jon and our choir, joined by singers and musicians from other congregations, gave us beautiful music.

The visiting clergy offered profound prayers, in most cases, prayers they had written themselves.

And we raised just under $1000 for the Community Crisis Center!

I know that Thanksgiving has passed and we are moving onto the next thing, but if you need of some uplift (and who doesn’t?), I encourage you to watch the video on YouTube or on our church website.

In my reflection on Monday night, I talked a little bit about my childhood Thanksgivings, when my extended family plus some other guests would squeeze into the living room and kitchen of my grandparents’ not very large rowhouse in downtown Jersey City.

So, memories of my grandparents – and especially my faithful and hardworking grandmother – were already on my mind when I turned my attention from Thanksgiving to Advent, the holy season of anticipation and preparation that begins today.

I’m convinced that Advent is the most counter-cultural season of the Church Year.

We all know that out in the world, it’s already the “Christmas Season.”

People are scrambling to buy gifts and put up decorations, doing their best to create a nice holiday for their families and friends.

Even here at church, next Sunday evening we’ll enjoy “Carols and Casseroles” and light our Christmas tree – and then there’s the Christmas Extravaganza, our amazing festival of community and generosity, just a week from Tuesday.

These are all good things.

And, in part, Advent is a spiritual preparation for Christmas.

But, as we heard loud and clear in today’s lessons, Advent is also the season when we are meant to prepare for the last day, the day of judgment, to be ready for the Second Coming of Christ.

And, as Jesus says at the end of today’s gospel lesson, his second coming, his return, will be at an unexpected hour – so we need to be alert.

And we need to be ready.

Which brings me back to my grandmother.

I remember visiting her in her apartment in a senior citizen building, towards the end of her life.

As I’ve mentioned before, she was a person of great faith, a very devout Roman Catholic.

And I’m not sure how we got to talking about ultimate things, but at one point she said something that got my attention.

Anticipating the end of her life, she said:

“My bags are packed.”

As you’d guess, those words – “My bags are packed” – made me sad. 

In the moment, I thought she meant that she was done with life, that she was just sort of sitting around waiting to die.

But that wasn’t it – and as I’ve reflected on that vivid expression – “My bags are packed” – I’m pretty sure that, for her, “packing her bags” meant that she knew that she had lived her life as faithfully as she could – not perfectly, of course, but as lovingly and generously as she could, so she felt prepared for the end.

And the end – or what might seem to be the end – was nothing to fear.

Advent is a season for us to pack our bags.

Advent is a season for us to pack our bags with prayer.

With God’s help, this is a season for us to spend even just a few minutes in prayer, maybe at the start or end of the day, maybe instead of doomscrolling on our phone or zoning out in front of the TV – a few minutes of prayer, to thank God for our many blessings, to ask God’s help to face the challenges ahead of us.

Advent is a season for us to pack our bags with repentance and forgiveness.

With God’s help, this is a season for us to repent of the ways we’ve gone wrong, the ways we’ve missed the mark, the ways that we’ve been selfish, unkind, or judgmental. This is a season for us ask for forgiveness - and also to offer forgiveness, to let it go, to unburden ourselves and ease the burdens of others.

Advent is a season for us to pack our bags with community.

With God’s help, it really is good for us to gather. 

I think that’s why so many people ventured into the night and came to our service on Monday. People – we – are hungry for community – hungry for what we receive here every week.

So, over these next busy four weeks, make time for community – come to church each of these four Advent Sundays, witness the lighting of each of the Advent candles, come have some casseroles and sing some carols, join us for the Extravaganza, our festival of community and generosity.

And, yes, Advent is a season for us to pack our bags with generosity.

With God’s help, let’s provide Christmas gifts for families in need, a gift card, a toy, a sweater.

Or, if we can’t afford that, all of us can manage picking up the phone to call or text someone we know is struggling - and a lot of people are struggling right now – the holidays are hard for all sorts of reasons, the times we live in are challenging for all sorts of reasons.

But we can be generous with our time and our attention, our genuine care for others.

Advent is a season for us to pack our bags.

My grandmother’s final illness took place during Christmastime. 

Since I was a teacher, I was off from school, and able to spend a lot of time with her in the hospital, spending more time with her than I had since I was a kid.

It was a hard time, but a beautiful time, too.

Once, while I was sitting beside her hospital bed, she turned to me and, calmly and confidently, she said, “I know where I’ve come from and I know where I am going.”

“I know where I’ve come from and I know where I am going.”

I’m not sure if she knew that she was quoting Jesus (it’s John 8:14).

My grandmother’s words were life-changing for me, making me wonder what I would need to do so that I could face my future, my fate, with as much faithful confidence – it’s one of the things that nudged me to explore my sense of call to the priesthood.

I’ve told this story many times but it’s only now that I’ve connected it to what she had told me before, back in her apartment, about her bags being packed.

Of course, she was calm and confident: her bags were packed.

With God’s help, as we begin a new Church Year, as we begin Advent, let’s pack our bags with prayer, repentance, community, and generosity.

And with our bags packed, we’ll be prepared.

And there will be nothing to fear.

Amen.

It is Good for Us to Gather

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 24, 2025

Interfaith Thanksgiving Service

It is Good for Us to Gather

First, I want to begin by welcoming all of you to St. Thomas’.

Welcome to this holy place where people have been offering praise and thanksgiving since 1742.

 

Welcome to all of you who have gathered here in person and to everyone joining us online. 

Second, I want to offer thanks.

Thank you to everyone here at St. Thomas’, parishioners and staff, who helped get everything ready.

And many thanks to my colleagues for creating our service and for participating tonight.

And I also want to thank Jon Waller and everyone making beautiful music.

It is good for us to gather.

Especially in a time when our divisions can seem as deep and wide as canyons, it is good for us - people of different faiths, people with, I’m sure, differing ideas about all sorts of things – it is good for us to gather in a spirit of peace and friendship.

Especially in a time when so many struggle to pay the bills, when for many a trip to the supermarket is an occasion for anxiety and careful calculation, it is good for us to gather in a spirit of generosity, sharing some of our abundance with our hungry neighbors who line up each week at the Community Crisis Center in Reisterstown.

Thank you in advance for supporting the Crisis Center, either by dropping money into the offering plate or using the QR code on the back page of the service bulletin.

And tonight, we hold in our hearts the Crisis Center’s Executive Director, Eileen Compton-Little, whose husband, Patrick, was killed in a car crash last week.

And we promise to support Eileen as best we can during her time of grief.

It is good for us to gather.

Especially in a time when we face many real and daunting challenges, it is good for us to gather in a spirit of hope.

And while the holiday season has been in full swing for quite a while now – I think it starts sometime in late August now – it is good for us to gather, to take a breath in this sacred space, and reflect on what is most important.

It is good for us to gather.

So, about the “holiday season.” 

It’s very common for Christian clergy to critique the materialism of Christmas.

I admit that I’ve done it – I did it just now, actually - but each time I do, I feel a twinge of hypocrisy because when I was a kid I used to get so excited about Christmas.

And I wish I could say that it was the profound spiritual meaning of Christmas that got me so worked up. 

But, no, of course not, it was the gifts.

For weeks, I would wonder what I was going to “get” for Christmas, what I was going to “get” from Santa, what I was going to “get” from my parents, from my relatives.

So, by the time Christmas Eve finally arrived, I could barely contain myself – and in the middle of the night, or maybe not even that late, my sister and I would head into the living room, opening our presents as my poor bleary-eyed parents looked on.

These are wonderful – slightly embarrassing – but wonderful memories.

But, as I’ve gotten older, it’s the memories of my childhood Thanksgivings that I cherish most.

We always went to my grandparents’ house. They lived in a rowhouse in downtown Jersey City, New Jersey - a house just slightly wider than a typical Baltimore rowhouse.

Since my parents, sister, and I lived pretty close to my grandparents, we were often among the first to arrive – which was a really good thing, since it’s possible that my sister and I got to sample some of the crispier parts of the stuffing.

Year after year, as my extended family continued to grow, we all somehow crammed into just two rooms – the kitchen, where my grandmother cooked and the kids ate, and the living room, dominated by a makeshift long table right down the middle.

And, it wasn’t just family – each year there were always a few other people there, too – people who I think may have had no other place to be – there were some more distant relatives (you know, like, second cousins twice removed), there was a Dominican nun named Sister Mary Evelyn, I remember her being there once or twice..

There was Mr. Miller, who seemed very old and I still don’t know his connection to us.

There was Morris and Shirley, who owned the shade and blind store where my grandmother worked, I remember them stopping by.

I’m sure there were others I’ve forgotten.

Now, my grandparents were not wealthy people but somehow there was always space for another seat at the table, the plates were always full, there was always more than enough.

It was good for us to gather.

Although my grandmother was a very devout Roman Catholic, I don’t remember much, if any, praying at Thanksgiving. I don’t think we said grace. No one offered a blessing.

The prayer was hard work.

The grace was generosity.

The blessing was hospitality.

And it was all – all of it - thanksgiving.

And better than any Christmas gift.

In a way, I’ve imagined tonight’s service as kind of like one of those long-ago Thanksgiving feasts.

True, we are doing a good bit of praying, offering beautiful prayers.

And, sadly, there’s no crispy stuffing available.

But we’ve invited everyone, people we know well and people we’ve never met.

And it is kind of tight up here, isn’t it?

I hope that tonight’s celebration of gratitude will remind us of our blessings and give us courage to do the hard work demanded by these challenging times.

I hope that we will be inspired to be even more generous and even more boldly hospitable.

I hope that tonight is the start of a new tradition – and, in fact, Rabbi Gruenberg has already graciously offered to host next year’s service.

And, finally, through every season, I hope that we will remember that it is good for us to gather.

Amen.

Citizens of Christ's Kingdom

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 23, 2025

Year C, Proper 29: The Last Sunday after Pentecost – Christ the King

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Canticle 16

Colossians 1:11-20

Luke 23:33-43

Citizens of Christ’s Kingdom

    About a hundred years ago, after the bloody upheaval of the First World War, some Christian leaders grew concerned that many Christians were no longer placing their ultimate trust in Jesus.

    Instead, many Christians were putting their faith in human leaders – in the would-be “strongmen” of the time. 

    Many Christians were placing their faith in human ideologies like communism, fascism, and nationalism.

    A big problem.

    So, back in 1925, Pope Pius XI tried to remind Christians that it’s Jesus who holds ultimate authority – that it’s Jesus who should receive our ultimate trust.

    The pope added a new observance to the Roman Catholic calendar, and soon other Christian denominations, like ours, did the same.

    It’s the day that we celebrate today:

    The Feast of Christ the King.

    Today, on the last Sunday of the Church Year, the last Sunday before we begin Advent, before we prepare for Christmas, before we prepare for the day of judgment, today we are reminded that we are meant to place our ultimate trust, our ultimate faith, not in human leaders or human systems but in Jesus, in Christ the King.

    We’ve been celebrating the Feast of Christ the King for a century now, and I think we can all admit that it really hasn’t worked.

    Even if our knowledge of history is a little foggy, we all know that the last century has been filled with horrors, horrors that Pope Pius could not have begun to imagine back in 1925, horrors often committed by people who at least claimed to be Christians.

    Sadly, tragically, Christians of every political persuasion have fallen for worldly leaders and their tempting promises.

Christians have twisted themselves to justify the unjustifiable, over and over again, right down to today.

    So often, we Christians have forgotten, or chosen to forget, the truth that while our worldly allegiances and responsibilities are important, ultimately our true citizenship is in the Kingdom of Christ the King.

    And it’s not hard to know why we keep making this mistake, why we keep swapping out Christ the King for someone or something else. 

    I mean, did you hear the gospel lesson that I just read?

    (I’m told that their Thursday evening rehearsal, the choir puzzled over the choice of gospel lesson for this big day. What kind of king is this?)

    I mean, it’s not a story about Christ reigning in glory.

    It’s not a story about Christ triumphing over his enemies.

    It’s not a story about how Christ’s followers will rule the earth.

    No, it’s a story about Christ the King seemingly defeated, nailed to a tree like a criminal, dying alongside criminals.

    It’s a story about Christ the King unable or unwilling to save himself, submitting to worldly power that mocks him, asking the Father to forgive the people who are tormenting him.

    It’s a story about Christ the crucified King, willing to suffer, willing to give away his life to reveal the depth of God’s love for us all.

    No shortcut, no easy victory, and no scapegoats, except for Christ the King himself.

    Of course, we know the rest of the story, so we know that the way of the cross is the way to new life.

    But we also know that this is a hard way, only possible with God’s help. And so, we Christians often choose shortcuts.

    We take what look like easy victories.

    We often pick on scapegoats, the people we hold responsible for all our troubles.

    And yet.

    And yet, although we Christians have often lost our way, often forgotten our truest citizenship, there have always been Christians who have remembered, who have called us back to the way, who have given away their lives in faithfulness to Christ the King.

    I’m still thinking about our event a couple of weeks ago with Mark Gornik and others who were involved in the founding of New Song a few decades ago in the Sandtown neighborhood of Baltimore.

    Those faithful Christians – not perfect people, but faithful Christians – moved into one of the most neglected neighborhoods in town with no real plan or strategy but to get to know and love the people who lived there – to see Christ in them – and to serve Christ by serving them through a health clinic, a school, recreation, housing and creating the opportunity of home ownership - love and forgiveness, success and failure - hope, especially when things seemed hopeless.

    Not everything worked out, not everything has lasted, but Mark and the others modeled citizenship in Christ’s Kingdom.

    And here at St. Thomas’, too, we know that our amazing outreach efforts – all those sandwiches, welcoming the Afghans, tutoring children at Owings Mills Elementary School, the Thanksgiving bags that threatened to take over the Old School Building last week – all these outreach efforts are not going to save, or even change the world very much.

    But that’s not our concern.

    This is how, with God’s help, we are required to act as citizens of Christ’s Kingdom.

    So, about citizenship.

    Like most, but not all, of you, I was born in this country. So, while I’ve certainly been grateful to be an American, my citizenship is something I’ve usually taken for granted – not something I think about very often.

    Of course, that’s not true for people who are seeking US citizenship, not true for those naturalized citizens who had to study for a test that most of the rest of us would probably fail, people who had to raise their right hand and make a heartfelt pledge of allegiance.

    I’ve never been to a naturalization ceremony, but I’ve seen pictures and videos, and it’s so moving - a beautiful reminder for all of us what American citizenship is supposed to be about.

    And I think it’s kind of the same with baptism.

    For most of us baptized as infants, we were pretty much born into it, right? We sort of take it all for granted.

    But for adults who get baptized, and we’ve had a few in my time here, it’s different, of course.

    This is why it’s so important that Baptism takes place right in the middle of our Sunday worship – it’s like witnessing a sacred naturalization ceremony, it’s a reminder for all of us that our truest citizenship is in the Kingdom of Christ the King.

    When we witness the “naturalization” of the newest citizen of Christ’s kingdom, as we will with little Caden in just a few minutes, when we renew our baptismal promises, we are reminded of the responsibilities of our Christian citizenship:

    To pray and to forgive.

    To love and to serve.

    A hundred years ago, the Church tried to remind us that our ultimate allegiance is not to worldly leaders or ideologies, but to Christ the King.

    Christ the King – a very different king of a very different kingdom.

    Our citizenship in Christ’s kingdom is not easy - there are heavy responsibilities, that we fulfill only with God’s help.

    But it’s our citizenship in Christ’s kingdom that offers Caden, and all of us, the blessing of new and never-ending life.

Amen.

Ultimate Things

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 9, 2025

Year C, Proper 27: The Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost

Haggai 1:15b-2:9

Psalm 145:1-5, 18-22

2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Luke 20:27-38

Ultimate Things

Back in February, a fierce storm blew through our area.

Maybe some of you remember it.

The wind gusts were so strong that it looked like the rain was falling horizontally.

Sue and I were in the rectory that afternoon as the wind howled and the rain streaked by when suddenly there was a loud crash, kind of a smashing sound.

I looked out one of the living room windows and immediately saw that the large old oak tree that had stood not far from St. Thomas Lane, that had stood beside the little stream that trickles through our property, that beautiful large old oak tree had shattered, only the base of the trunk remained standing, its large limbs lay jumbled on the ground.

I was still absorbing that startling scene when there was another crash. I saw the tall pine tree that had stood close to the house, that towered above where we park our cars, that tall pine tree was chopped near its base and came tumbling down.

Amazingly, the falling tree didn’t lay a scratch our vintage Hondas and, even more important, didn’t do any damage to the rectory. 

      Although the pine tree fell right in the sweet spot between our cars and the house, it did bring down the utility line.

      And the house went dark and quiet.

      After the storm passed, I went outside to look more closely at the damage. It was startling to see the pine tree lying on its side. And it was even more unsettling to see the old oak shattered into pieces.

      I do still miss the pine tree – especially during the summer because its shade used to cool our cars.

     But I really miss the mighty old oak.

     If you’ve driven along St. Thomas Lane, you know its absence has made the house much more visible from the road.

     But it’s not that so much.

     Of course, I know very well about life cycles and all that, but it really bummed me out that this old tree that had withstood so many storms over, I don’t know, a century or two, was no more.

     And for months after, each time I drove up and down our driveway, the once stately tree lying in pieces was for me a stark reminder, a stark reminder of ultimate things.

     We are now entering the last few Sundays of the Church Year.

     In just three weeks it will be Advent once again. Advent is the holy season when we prepare for Christmas, everybody knows that. But during Advent we also look ahead to the Last Day.

     Over the next couple of weeks, our Scripture lessons will increasingly turn to ultimate things.

     And right on schedule, in today’s gospel lesson, we heard Jesus being questioned by some Sadducees. They have a very specific question for Jesus about what life will be like in the next life.

     The Sadducees were a group within first century Judaism. The gospels often pair them with the better-known Pharisees, but the two groups were quite different.

     The Sadducees seem to have been a smaller, more elite group – and, as Luke tells us, they did not believe in resurrection, they didn’t believe there was anything beyond death.

     Knowing this about the Sadducees, makes their encounter with Jesus kind of…annoying.

     I mean, the Sadducees think the whole idea of life after death is nonsense, so they concoct this ridiculous story of a poor woman who married seven brothers in succession. And then they ask Jesus whose wife will she be in the next life?

     Can’t you imagine the Sadducees looking around at each other with smug expressions, sure that they had stumped the rabbi from Nazareth?

     Come on, try to wiggle out of that one, Jesus!

     Now, to be fair, the Sadducees are right about what’s called “Levirate Marriage.” It’s found in the Book of Deuteronomy, and it was intended to protect widows from being cast out of their husband’s family. Rather than facing the world on her own, the woman would be married to her husband’s brother.

     Well, Jesus takes seriously the question about the heavenly marital status of this poor woman who was married to seven brothers in succession. Jesus’ reply is very polite, but really, he tells the Sadducees that they don’t understand anything – they just don’t understand anything about God.

     I hope that we understand a little bit more about God than the long-ago Sadducees.

     And one thing we know about God is that God is always transforming death into new life. 

     We learn about God’s transforming work throughout the Bible.

     For example, in today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard from the Prophet Haggai, not a prophet we hear from very often.

     Haggai was alive around the time that the Babylonians captured Jerusalem and destroyed the Temple in 586, sending some of the population into exile in Babylon.

     Just like in Egypt long before, it must have seemed like all hope was lost. God’s people were living far from home. And the Temple, God’s very home, lay in ruins.

     But, of course, that wasn’t the end of the story.

     Empires do not last forever.

     It may require much time and sacrifice but empires do not last forever.

     So, the Babylonians were in turn defeated by the Persians, who allowed the people of Israel to return home and to restore their capital, to rebuild the Temple.

     And as we heard from Haggai, God pledges that the new Temple will be even more spectacular than the old one.

     God promises, “My spirit abides among you; do not fear.”

     And it was a big capital project but with God’s help, the people of Israel did indeed rebuild the Temple.

     God is always transforming death into new life.

     This is the heart of our Christian faith, Good Friday to Easter, the cross to the empty tomb.

      And if you’ve driven along St. Thomas Lane over the past couple of weeks, you may have noticed some new life there, too.

      With God’s help, and thanks to the good work of the Green Team and the generosity of the Chesapeake Bay Trust Urban Tree Planting Program, where the old mighty oak once stood, there are now lots of new plantings, young, native trees, carefully protected by mesh, just beginning to take root.

       Yes, the oak stump is still there, a reminder of vulnerability and death.

       But now when I drive up and down our driveway, I see all that new life and I think about how wonderful it will be over the next few years to watch those trees grow, and how future rectors and their parishioners and neighbors will get to witness the trees reach their full height, achieve their full glory.

       God is transforming death into new life.

       And what about the next life?

       Well, St. Paul writes, “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him.” (1 Corinthians 2:9)

       So, there’s not too much we can say for sure, but certainly the God who dreamed up and sustains all of “this,” the God who is transforming death into life right here and now, the God of the living will continue that transformative work in the next life, too, in ways that we cannot begin to imagine.

       As I was thinking about all of this, this pre-Advent reflection on ultimate things, I was reminded of these words from our Prayer Book.

       A good way to conclude, for now.

       Let us pray.

       Father of all, we pray to you for those we love, but see no longer: Grant them your peace; let light perpetual shine upon them; and, in your loving wisdom and almighty power, work in them the good purpose of your perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

        Amen.

Saints Aim Higher

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

November 2, 2025

Year C: All Saints’ Sunday

Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm 149

Ephesians 1:11-23

Luke 6:20-31

Saints Aim Higher

Over at the rectory, Sue and I have one of those “flip calendars” which gives a little inspirational saying for each day.

We keep it on one of the windowsills in the kitchen.

So, every morning, I turn the page to the saying of the day, which I look at for a few minutes as I eat my breakfast.

It’s not a religious or even particularly spiritual calendar. Most of the sayings are cliched and I often roll my tired eyes at whatever sentiment is being expressed.

But sometimes the words seem to be right on the nose.

So, here was the bit of calendar inspiration for yesterday, for November 1, which happened to be All Saints’ Day:

“Aim Higher.”

Cliché, yes, of course, but exactly right for the day because the truth is that saints do aim higher.

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear loud and clear Jesus’ lofty and demanding expectations for his followers, for the saints, for all of us.

And the saints, both past and present, have taken Jesus at his word, they’ve aimed higher than may have seemed reasonable or realistic, they’ve aimed higher to love and give and forgive more generously than might have seemed possible or even prudent.

Saints are not perfect and often fall short, but saints aim higher.

And, with God’s help, it’s the high aim of the saints that makes Jesus’ vision of a downside-up world a reality.

And, although we’re certainly not perfect, isn’t this the story of St. Thomas’?

As a church, as a community of saints, we aim higher:

The genuine warmth of our welcome.

The simple beauty of our worship.

The wisdom and generosity of our lay leaders.

The care for one another, especially when someone is sick or struggling.

The tireless work of our devoted church staff, very much including our wonderful Assistant Rector.

The nurturing of our children and our young people.

The excellence of our choir.

The creative and transformational ways we serve people in our community, people outside our doors, beyond our walls.

And thanks especially to the leadership and dedication of Amy Sussman, we’ve been aiming higher with our stewardship, too – telling our stories more openly and giving more sacrificially.

So, as we celebrate all the saints, may the saints of St. Thomas’ – may all of us – continue to aim higher.

Amen.

Imperfect People, Imperfect Prayers, Merciful God

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 26, 2025

Year C, Proper 25: The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

Joel 2:23-32

Psalm 65

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

Luke 18:9-14

Imperfect People, Imperfect Prayers, Merciful God

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we hear a parable about two men praying in the Jerusalem Temple.

One is a Pharisee.

The gospels almost always depict the Pharisees in a negative light, but from other ancient sources we know that the Pharisees were held in high regard, respected for their holiness and goodness.

And the other man in the parable, the other man praying in the Temple, was a tax collector.

Now, since most people don’t enjoy paying taxes, tax collectors, past and present, are usually not the most popular people in town.

But tax collectors in first century Israel we’re particularly despised because they were Jews who were working for the Romans and their allies who occupied and oppressed Israel.

Tax collectors were seen as traitors to their own people.

So, it probably took some courage for this tax collector to enter the Temple, knowing that the people around him were likely to judge him harshly.

And, sure enough, you heard the very judgy prayer of the Pharisee.

Before introducing the parable, Luke tips us off on what he thinks is the parable’s meaning, its purpose:

“Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”

We’re not told just who those self-righteous and judgmental people might be, but we know the type, don’t we?

And, who knows, maybe we’ve even been the type!

Anyway, you heard the prayers offered by these two men.

The Pharisee thanks God that he’s not like all these awful sinners, especially that he’s not like this tax collector – and then he rattles off all his good deeds.

And, meanwhile, the tax collector, standing off by himself, eyes downcast, simply prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

Jesus concludes this tale by saying: “I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

So, the moral of the story seems clear, right?

But…there is another possibility.

The word translated as “rather than” could also be translated as “alongside.”

So, try this on for size:

“I tell you, this man went down to his home justified alongside the other…”

I don’t know if that’s the more correct translation, but I think it points to an important truth:

Both the Pharisee and the tax collector are imperfect.

And their prayers are imperfect, too.

The Pharisee is tooting his own horn and judging the tax collector, which doesn’t seem like the kind of prayer that God desires.

And the tax collector, yes, his prayer is humble but there’s no repentance, is there? There’s no turning away from his wrongdoing.

In fact, after he was done praying in the Temple, the tax collector probably went right back to work, back to working for the oppressors of his own people.

And yet.

And yet, God is loving and merciful to these two imperfect people with their imperfect prayers.

Just as God is loving and merciful to all of us imperfect people with our imperfect prayers.

And since God is loving and merciful to us - most especially through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus – since God is loving and merciful to us - we should be loving and merciful, too.

It’s God’s love and mercy to us that inspires us to do the outreach work that we do here at St. Thomas’:

Feeding the hungry.

Teaching the children.

Welcoming the stranger.

We walk alongside one another, all of us imperfect people with our imperfect prayers, we walk alongside one another, as I like to imagine the Pharisee and the tax collector did as they left the Temple, both of them, all of us, loved by our most merciful God.

Amen.

Lamentation and Faith

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 5, 2025

Year C, Proper 22: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Lamentations 1:1-6

Psalm 137

2 Timothy 1:1-14

Luke 17:5-10

Lamentation and Faith

Recently, someone told me that he had just finished reading the entire Bible, from cover to cover.

Have any of you ever done that?

It’s a pretty impressive achievement, right?

It’s an impressive achievement, first of all, because the Bible is a very long book.

And it’s also an impressive achievement because the Bible really isn’t even a book – it’s a library - it’s a collection of different books – all of them inspired by God, written over a long stretch of time, written by lots of different people in many different historical moments.

And, no surprise, the books of the Bible include lots of different genres:

Just for starters, there’s history and law and prophecy and poetry.

And, of course, the Bible includes a wide range of human experiences and emotions.

There are parts of the Bible that are amazingly beautiful, inspiring, encouraging, and uplifting.

There are parts of the Bible that are downright puzzling, parts that leave us scratching our heads wondering, “How did that get into the Bible?”

And there are parts of the Bible that express what we might call our more shadowy emotions and experiences: fear, grief, rage, and even the desire for revenge.

We don’t often hear those parts of the Bible here on Sundays, but we did hear them today, didn’t we?

Our first reading from the Book of Lamentations begins with a heartbreakingly beautiful line:

“How lonely sits the city that was once full of people!”

And the Psalms alone include the range of human emotions and experiences. Sure there is much praise of God but turn to almost any page and you’re likely to hear the Psalmist crying out to God, pleading something like:

Hey, where are you?!?

Why are you letting this terrible stuff happen to us?

Come down here and fix this!

And then there’s the last verses of Psalm 137 that we read today. Some would argue that we shouldn’t ever say these words out loud in church – we shouldn’t sing this ugly song of revenge, salivating at the idea of Babylon’s children getting dashed against the rock.

Maybe so, but we’ve probably all wished bad things to happen to people we consider not very good.

Like all Jews of his time, Jesus knew and prayed the psalms, so it’s no surprise that as he hung on the cross in agony, Jesus cries out to the Father by quoting Psalm 22:

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

Hard for us to hear, but very real.

Now, obviously, if lament, fear, grief and the desire for revenge were the end of the story, there would not be much point in us getting together here every Sunday.

But that’s not the end of the story.

I’m told that my predecessor Bill Baxter used to say that “we are an Easter people living in a Good Friday world.”

And that is exactly right.

There are plenty of troubles all around us, there is much to lament, but suffering, fear, hate, despair, and death do not get the last word.

From the cross, Jesus quoted the opening of Psalm 22, but listen to the hopeful conclusion to Psalm 22:

“My soul shall live for him; my descendants shall serve him; they shall be known as the Lord’s for ever. They shall come and make known to a people yet unborn the saving deeds that he has done.”

Easter people in a Good Friday world.

Lamentation, yes, but also faith.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus says something familiar but also very important about faith – that we just need a little bit – just a mustard seed of faith – to do amazing things.

And when Jesus speaks about “faith” I don’t think he’s talking so much about agreeing with certain propositions – I don’t think he has in mind something like nodding along to the Nicene Creed which we will stand and say in a few minutes.

No, I think Jesus means faith as a movement of the heart, faith as trust.

If we have even just a little bit of trust – just a mustard seed of trust – we can do amazing things, with God’s help.

And, even better, when we gather together all our little mustard seeds of faith, as we do here all the time, well, then truly extraordinary things are possible.

Just look through the pages of our St. Thomas’ “magazine.”

As most of you know, yesterday we had our second annual Jubilee Reception.

Sue and I – and my parents – were delighted to welcome to the Rectory so many parishioners who have been part of St. Thomas’ story for fifty years or more – in some cases, way more years than fifty.

It said on our sheet cake – yes, of course there was cake – it said on our sheet cake: “Faithfulness and Dedication.”

And, as I looked around the house at all of those wonderful people, I thought about the hundreds of years of faithfulness and dedication represented in the rectory dining room and living room and out on the porch.

Yes, everyone there has suffered and lamented at different times of their lives, and yet, with maybe just a mustard seed of faith, they – you – just kept going, teaching Sunday School, singing in the choir, reading lessons and prayers, providing beautiful flowers for the altar and shining all that brass.

With maybe just a mustard seed-sized amount of trust, they – you – just kept going, serving on the vestry, caring for our buildings and grounds, feeding the hungry, visiting the sick, and searching for a new rector or two or three.

With maybe just a mustard seed of faith, they – you – have just kept going.

Easter people in a Good Friday world.

Faithfulness and dedication.

Yes, we can and should lament the many troubles of our lives, our land, and our world, but we can also hold on to that little mustard seed of faith – nurturing and growing that little gift of trust by gathering together here with everybody else with their seeds, and together, together, doing what we ought to do, doing truly amazing things.

Yes, together, we lament.

But also, with God’s help, together, we remain faithful.

Amen.