God's Subtle Light

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 28, 2025

The First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Psalm 147:13-21

Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

John 1:1-18

God’s Subtle Light

Some of you know that Sue and I have three cats.

There’s Ria and Diego, who are 16 and 15 years old, pretty old for cats.

And there’s Simone, who’s a relative whippersnapper at about 4 years old.

And one thing we’ve discovered is that cats, both old and young, just can’t resist the little pinpoint of light created by a laser pointer!

If you have cats, have you tried it out?

I think dogs like it, too.

Well anyway, our cats go nuts, chasing that little dot of light, sliding across the floor, twitching with excitement just before they pounce, dizzying themselves when we spin the light in an ever-tighter circle.

Watching our cats run after that moving little light is certainly very entertaining for us, but I do wonder what it’s like for the cats.

First of all, the cats know that Sue and I control the light. When they hear the little click of the device – a sound that they realize comes from our hand – they know the light is about to appear.

In some kind of cat way, they know that we are manipulating them, but they just can’t help themselves.

And on some level the cats know that this light isn’t real the way, say, a mouse is real. I’m pretty sure the cats realize that they won’t be able to “catch” the light, but they just can’t resist, so they chase, and they pounce, and they spin.

It’s fun while it lasts but ultimately not very satisfying.

It’s easy for us to feel superior to the cats but I wonder if we’re not so different.

There are so many flashing lights all around us, manipulating us, drawing our attention. 

      Big business has gotten very good at distracting us, bombarding us with ads everywhere we look.

      The 24-hour news cycle is relentless.

      Some politicians and so-called influencers can’t seem to go more than an hour or two without a social media post or statement, hungry for our attention at all times.

      Our phones are constantly buzzing and pinging with the latest news, or alerting us about all the amazing “after-Christmas” sales.

      There are so many flashing lights all around us – the flashing lights of materialism and nonsense and fear and hate – so many flashing lights, it’s like Times Square or the Vegas Strip everywhere, all the time.

      And, yes, some of it is fun – at least for a while - but ultimately these lights are not very satisfying, and sometimes they are very destructive.

      Out in the world it’s already “after-Christmas,” with merchandise priced to sell, but here in church it’s still Christmas and it will go right on being Christmas until January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.

      And today, on the First Sunday after Christmas, we always read the Prologue to the Gospel of John.

      I always think of the Prologue as John’s “cosmic Christmas.”

      John doesn’t give us any stories about Mary and Joseph making a trip to Bethlehem, nothing about the inn with no vacancy, nothing about the shepherds or the angels, nothing about the newborn Son of God placed in a manger, a pretty word for a feeding trough meant for animals, the newborn Jesus already food for the world.

      Instead, John takes us all the way back to… the beginning.

      Using beautifully mysterious and poetic language, John declares that, in and through Jesus, God’s Word, God’s Light, has now entered our very shadowy world.

      And John insists, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

      And throughout his gospel, John will continue to develop that theme of light and darkness – it’s a theme that speaks to every time and place – and there’s certainly plenty of shadow in our own time.

      But I think the flashing lights of our time – the many distractions of today – are especially challenging because God’s Light is different than all those other lights. 

God’s Light is subtle.

      It’s rare that God’s Light is so bright that it knocks us off our horse, like what happened to St. Paul on the road to Damascus.

      No, God’s Light is subtle, requiring our attention.

      But at the same time, God’s Light is way more powerful than all the other lights that we chase, the lights that can never really satisfy.

      In addition to today being the First Sunday after Christmas, it’s also the last Sunday of the year. And so, I thought I’d share with you just a few ways that I’ve recently seen God’s subtle Light shining.

      In the run up to Christmas, several parishioners asked me how I was holding up, they offered sympathy, recognizing that this is a busy and demanding time.

      And it’s true, that for clergy Christmas is a busier time but, honestly, I felt like I just sailed right through it. And that was thanks to so many of you who gave so much time and talent to make Christmas happen. And my smooth sailing was thanks to our dedicated and hard-working staff. They are such a great team.

      And this year, Christmas was especially breezy for me because of our wonderful Assistant Rector. Sharing this work with Rev. Amelia has been a joy, a privilege, and a lot of fun, too.

      And Rachel Waller’s leadership of the Junior Choir has been such a gift. What a joy to see and hear our children the 4:00 Christmas Eve service, singing our final prelude and then acting out the Christmas story.

      God’s subtle light.

      A week ago, on Saturday afternoon, our Afghan neighbor Kamal called me to say that he and his daughters were outside the rectory door.

      When I opened the door, sure enough, there they were. Kamal smiling broadly and the girls behind him, looking kind of shy. They had brought over for us an Afghan treat, a kind of pastry, that is served on the Winter Solstice. 

      I wonder if they think we have a lot of people living in the rectory because it was a really big plate of treats, way more than Sue and I would be able to eat, so I brought them over for Sunday fellowship.

      But I keep thinking about Kamal and his daughters standing at our door, having been through so much and yet offering such warm kindness and delicious generosity.

      God’s subtle light.

      And, finally, there was Nadine.

      Nadine first called here a couple of years ago, when her husband died. It turns out that they had been married here long ago and she wanted the Rector of St. Thomas’ to officiate at his funeral.

      Unfortunately, I had another commitment, but I arranged for another priest to lead the service in my place.

      Over the next couple of years, we had a little phone contact with Nadine. She clearly needed help and Jane Farnan our Parish Administrator tried her best to connect Nadine to social services.

      Anyway, in the fall I received a call from a hospital social worker telling me that Nadine was dying and that she wanted me to serve as her medical power of attorney.

      I was startled and uncertain. 

      And I was sad. Was there really no one else?

      I was also humbled. Nadine and I had never met in person, but she trusted me not because of me but because of the position I hold, a reminder of the sacred trust I’ve been given.

      And so began a very intense couple of months, as Nadine’s life drew to a close.

      As I got to know her, I discovered that she really was alone – the most alone person I’ve ever met.

      Yet, in the hospital and later in the hospice, a little community formed around this somewhat cantankerous woman. 

      Of course, I go to hospitals all the time, so I know that usually the staff does its best but they’re often shorthanded and pressed for time and patients don’t always get the attention that they need and deserve.

      Ideally, family and friends fill that gap, right?

      But in Nadine’s case, there was no one. So, the staff – the social worker, the nurses, the dietary aides, you name it – they all stepped up, giving her extra TLC. She was picky about food, so they even went out and bought the things that she liked.

      There was also a woman who initially was interested in buying Nadine’s house. I was wary when she showed up, but very quickly she came to care for Nadine, too. She bought her sweet pastries that this little bird-like woman ate with gusto. She and her partner brought a grandfather clock from Nadine’s house, the only object she asked to have with her in hospice. And she stuck with Nadine even after she was no longer capable of making decisions about her house or anything else.

      And in the end, on a cold and windy day, it was just the two of us and the funeral director at Nadine’s graveside service, bringing her to rest beside her husband.

      God’s subtle light.

      We live in a time of so much distraction.

      So many lights that draw our attention, so many lights that never really satisfy.

      But on Christmas, we’re reminded that in and through Jesus, God’s Light has entered the world – a Light as subtle as a child born to a couple of nobodies and placed in a manger – God’s subtle Light that can never be overcome, never, no matter what.

      Amen.

God Goes "All In"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2025

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

God Goes "All In"

Merry Christmas!

As most of you know, every year the church conducts a stewardship campaign, or sometimes we call it a stewardship season.

Every fall, we try to reflect a little more deeply on the many blessings we have received from God, and we think about how we should and can respond to those blessings by giving of ourselves more generously, by sharing our time, talent, and treasure, by being generous with the church and with others.

Every year, it’s customary to come up with a theme for the stewardship campaign. Ideally, it’s something catchy and memorable.

One of my favorites was “An Attitude of Gratitude.”

You just can’t go wrong with a rhyme.

But my most favorite was a theme we used one year at my previous church in Jersey City: 

      “All In.”

“All In” 

Now, “All In” had a double meaning.

First, we hoped that all our parishioners would fill out and submit their pledge cards.

But on a deeper and more meaningful level, “All In” was about commitment, calling all of us to be fully committed to Jesus, to be fully committed to our church, to be fully committed to love and mercy.

“All In.”

I don’t remember exactly how successful our stewardship campaign was that year, I think we did OK, but I do remember one particular parishioner who took our theme to heart.

I’ll call him Anthony.

He was a challenging guy. He had some mental health challenges, with wide mood swings, which often made him very difficult to deal with.

You always knew when he was in church.

Anthony was essentially homeless. He would tell me that he was “living off the land.” 

Some of us were able to help Anthony, at least a little, but it was tough.

Anyway, for whatever reason, “All In” really captured his imagination.

Often when I’d see him around in the neighborhood, he’d yell out, “Father Tom, I’m all in!”

And believe it or not, Anthony was a pledging member of our church.

And that year, he wrote on his pledge card that his ministry was to “Seek the lost.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

He was always trying to convince people he encountered on the street to come to our church, and a few times he managed to get them there, people who were often in worse shape than he was – living on the streets, addicted, overwhelmed by life, bewildered to somehow find themselves in an Episcopal church on a Sunday morning.

Of course, Anthony’s ministry of seeking the lost made many of us church people, very much including me, uncomfortable and on edge.

      The good order of our service was sometimes disrupted when one of Anthony’s lost sheep would start wandering around.

And yet, although he was pretty messed up himself, or maybe because he was messed up himself, Anthony felt the urgency to share Something Good – to share the One who is Good – with those who were lost.

Anthony went “all in” – and, by his example, he challenged us to do the same.

On the first Christmas, God went “all in” with us, and for us.

The God who creates all that is – the God who is pure love and mercy – the God who transcends time and space – this God comes among us in a new and unique way, limiting God’s Self in a particular human being, born to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances.

In and through Jesus, God goes “all in” with us and for us.

God submits to the limitations of humanity, the limitations of infancy, unable to walk or speak or feed himself or clean himself, totally dependent on the care of Mary and Joseph, who, let’s face it, just barely manage to pull it off.

In and through Jesus, God goes “all in” with us and for us – all the way to the cross and the empty tomb.

Take that in for a moment.

All in. For us.

So, if we ever think that we don’t matter, that our life has little or no value, or that our mistakes are just too bad to be forgiven, remember that God goes “all in” for us.

And if we ever think that other people don’t matter, that their lives have little or no value, or that their mistakes are just too bad to be forgiven, remember that God goes “all in” for them, too.

Two thousand years ago, almost no one knew about the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem – just a no doubt exhausted Mary and a stunned Joseph, and maybe the innkeeper who sent them away.

And, of course, the shepherds, who encountered the angels singing their song of glory - they knew, too.

But that’s about it.

And yet, this obscure birth, both unique and ordinary, this birth changes everything.

In and through Jesus, God goes “all in” with us and for us.

And how should we respond to this greatest of all blessings?

Well, with an attitude of gratitude, of course!

This Christmas and always, let’s go “all in.”

Like Anthony, let’s seek the lost – and there are a lot of them – some have no homes and some have very nice houses.

      With God’s help, let’s live lives of love and mercy, reminding everybody, including ourselves, that we are all loved – that we all matter - because God goes “all in” with us and for us.

Amen.

Poignant Questions

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 14, 2025

Year A: The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 35:1-10

Psalm 146:4-9

James 5:7-10

Matthew 11:2-11

Poignant Questions

You know, it’s gotten very Christmassy here at St. Thomas’ – and that was even before last night’s snowfall.

Thanks to your generosity, many of the graves in the oldest part of our cemetery are now adorned with Christmas wreaths, a little touch of holiday love for those who have gone long before us, those no longer remembered by anyone still alive, but not forgotten by God, and not neglected by our church.

A really beautiful and meaningful tradition.

And last Sunday night, a bunch of us got together in the Parish Hall for “Carols and Casseroles.” Attendance was better than we expected, so we had to pull out some more chairs but, fortunately there was plenty of casserole to go around. After being fortified with hearty food and good cheer, we then went outside to sing “O Christmas Tree” as the little lights on our Christmas Tree brightened the dark night.

And then on Tuesday, even more of us came out for the Christmas Extravaganza, which once again lived up to its name!

We enjoyed yet another great meal and then we fanned out to the Library and the Old School Building to sort, wrap, and pack gifts for our neighbors who turn for help from the Community Crisis Center, Paul’s Place, ERICA, and Owings Mills Elementary School.

Just amazing generosity.

And then on Wednesday, we posted our Christmas banners out on Garrison Forest Road and St. Thomas Lane, a reminder for people who may not come to church very often, people who haven’t been to church since… Easter, or maybe even longer than that - a reminder to everyone driving by that Christmas is coming, and they are welcome here.

And, finally, even here in church today, there are signs that it’s almost Christmas.

Today, on the Third Sunday of Advent, what’s often called Gaudete Sunday from a Latin word meaning “rejoice” – on the Third Sunday of Advent we switch our liturgical color from blue to rose. It’s a kind of lightening up - a signal that, ready or not, soon it will be Christmas!

So, rejoice!

But …I have to say that, with that Christmassy spirit in the air, today’s gospel lesson doesn’t quite match the mood, right?

I mean, yes, John the Baptist is back, but his situation is quite different from what we heard last week.

Last week, John came out of the wilderness, clothed in camel’s hair and eating locusts and wild honey, deliberately echoing the Prophet Elijah.

Last week, John called the people to repent, to change their hearts, and, amazingly enough, the crowds thronged to the River Jordan to hear his hard preaching, to be dunked, and begin anew.

Last week, John had no use for the religiously respected, no use for people who thought that their station in life or their heritage would somehow save them.

And last week, John predicted the coming of one even more powerful than John himself, one who would baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire, one who will be a fearsome judge, armed with a winnowing fork, gathering his wheat into his granary and burning the chaff “with unquenchable fire.”

But that was then.

Today, we find John the Baptist in prison.

John had spoken truth to political power and, as usual, political power did not like that one bit and locked him up – and we know, and John probably knew, that he would not get out of prison alive.

And so, today we have this touching and unsettling scene of an imprisoned John the Baptist, once so confident and bold, who had baptized Jesus and recognized him as the One – an imprisoned John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus, 

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

Why is John so uncertain now?

Well, I would imagine that being imprisoned with a looming execution will make you think, will get you thinking about what you really believe, what you can really hold onto when everything seems to be passing away.

I would also guess that a death sentence would make you acutely aware of time, would make John impatient for the Messiah to get to work already, pick up that winnowing fork and start separating the wheat from the chaff – if I’m wrongly imprisoned, I would want the day of God’s judgment to begin right this minute.

But that just didn’t seem to be happening.

And this brings us to a more sensitive explanation for John’s uncertainty about Jesus.

John wasn’t quite right about the Messiah.

John had anticipated a fearsome judge raining down fire, but, while it’s true that we will face ultimate judgment on the last day, God had a different kind of Savior in mind.

Jesus is a healer and a teacher.

Jesus came into the world to save the world, not to condemn it.

Jesus calls his followers to love, to give, to forgive, to cast out the evil spirits of the world.

A different kind of Savior.

And so, sitting in prison, John asked his poignant question:

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

And how does Jesus reply?

Well, in his usual way, Jesus doesn’t give a direct answer, but simply points to the work he has been doing, healing work that apparently they themselves had heard about and seen:

“…the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”

We’re not told if the imprisoned John the Baptist accepted this answer, if he believed this evidence.

I hope so.

So, back to the people driving by our Christmas banners on Garrison Forest Road and St. Thomas Lane, the people who might consider coming back to church for the first time in a while.  

Many will be drawn here by tradition and nostalgia. They’ll to see the beautiful decorations, to hear the familiar carols, to applaud our adorable and talented children as they act out the Christmas story.

But I think some of those people – maybe more than we might imagine – will arrive with poignant questions in their hearts, questions not unlike what John the Baptist asked long ago:

Is this Jesus for real?

Can I find hope and meaning here?

Are these Christians really who they say they are?

And we always try to do this as best we can, but at Christmas it will be especially important that we warmly welcome everyone who finds their way here, no matter what brought them here, no matter how long it’s been, no matter their questions, assumptions, uncertainties.

And on Christmas, the Weekly News and Notes will be even more important than usual, because it’s in those beautiful pages that we are able to tell some of our story.

And what’s our story? It’s a story of a diverse group of Jesus’ disciples with different ideas about all sorts of things, gathering week after week to pray and give thanks – welcoming absolutely everyone - offering ourselves in service to our community, in real and creative and sacrificial ways.

Our story is a story of people who love getting together, who love rejoicing, especially if there’s great food involved.

This is not bragging, just like Jesus was not bragging when he answered John’s disciples long ago.

This is the truth of God at work in, among, and through us.

And as an old friend of mine used to say, I don’t have to believe it, because I’ve seen it.

I’ve seen it here.

But there are so many people out there with poignant questions, people who haven’t seen it, who don’t believe it.

And so, we are called to tell them, to show them.

Especially at Christmas.

Amen.

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.