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.

Beatitude People

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 28, 2025

Year C, Proper 21: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15

Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

Beatitude People

If you were here two weeks ago, you may remember that I shared a little bit about Sister June Favata, a Sister of Charity who faithfully served St. Vincent Academy in Newark, New Jersey for decades, and where I taught history back in the 1990’s.

A week and a half ago, I drove up to New Jersey for Sister June’s funeral – something I probably would not have done if Rev. Amelia were not here – so, yet another reason I’m thankful for her presence here with us.

I’m very glad that I went to June’s funeral because it turned out to be one of the most intensely emotional experiences of my life.

Part of it was being in a church full of people whose lives – like mine - had been touched, often in profound ways, by this extraordinary person.

And part of it was seeing people – former students and colleagues – who, in some cases, I hadn’t seen in something like 30 years – although it was a funeral, it was also a joyful reunion.

During the service, several people offered moving and sometimes funny remembrances of June, taking me back all those years to when I taught at St. Vincent’s.

And the priest who gave the homily found the perfect words to describe June.

He called her a “Beatitude Sister.”

I love that.

A “Beatitude Sister.”

The Beatitudes are Jesus’ vision of the downside-up kingdom of God.

And in the downside-up vision of the Beatitudes, Jesus declares that it’s the poor and the hungry and the mournful and the hated who are the blessed ones.

And that priest was right: June really was a “Beatitude Sister” because she spent her life making Jesus’ downside-up vision a reality.

Yes, for her everyone counted, everybody mattered, but June focused her tremendous energy on the poor and the suffering, not because they were better than anybody else but because, well, they were poor and suffering.

I’ll never forget – and will always be thankful for June the “Beatitude Sister.”

Some of you may remember that in the Gospel of Luke, right after Jesus describes all those who are blessed in the kingdom, he continues by warning those who have already been blessed, those who have already received their reward, those currently on top who will be brought low.

Jesus says, “Woe to you who are rich, woe to you who are well fed and laughing, woe to you who are highly respected.”

Woe, woe, woe.

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear these “blessings” and “woes” in parable form – it’s a parable much easier to understand than the parable of the dishonest manager that we heard last week – this parable is definitely much easier to understand, but maybe harder for us to hear.

Just like the “woes,” The Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is hard for us to hear because by the standards of history and the world, we are rich.

Oh, we may not feel rich when we look at our supermarket receipt or when we get our BGE bill, but we are rich.

So, let’s take a look at this challenging parable:

The rich man, who goes unnamed, is almost a comical stereotype of a really wealthy person – he’s wearing the best clothes, and he is feasting – he is “feasting sumptuously every day.”

Notice that there is no mention of other people at his feast. Surely there were slaves preparing all this food and laundering the fine clothes, but maybe this rich man is all alone amid his wealth.

Meanwhile, right outside at the rich man’s gate there is a poor man – a desperately poor man who is named Lazarus - Lazarus, sick and hungry, desperately hoping for a just few scraps from the rich man’s table, a few scraps which are never shared.

It’s quite a pathetic scene, with only the dogs tending to Lazarus’ sores.

Well, you just heard the parable, so you know there has been a great reversal of fortune: Lazarus is in heaven, in the “bosom of Abraham,” while the rich man is in agony in hell.

Blessed are you, Lazarus.

Woe to you, rich man.

There are a couple of clues that it’s not just his great wealth that has landed him in hell. This rich man was not a good man.

We might try to excuse his neglect of Lazarus. Maybe the rich man didn’t go out much. Maybe, somehow, he didn’t know that Lazarus was at his gate.

The only problem with that theory is that the rich man knows Lazarus’ name, which might be the most disturbing moment in the parable.

Not only does the rich man know Lazarus’ name, but in the hereafter, he even tries to put him to work, asking Abraham to send Lazarus down to hell with some water to quench his thirst.

But, no, there is no traveling between the land of blessing and the land of woe.

But the rich man, he’s nothing if not persistent, telling Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers, to warn them to change their ways before it’s too late and they end up in the fires of hell, too.

I guess we can give the rich man a little bit of credit for caring about a few other people, caring about his five brothers, at least.

But Abraham says, no, because the brothers, just like the rich man, just like all of us, we already know how we are meant to live – we know the choices that bring life and the choices that bring death – we know the choices that lead to heaven and the choices that lead to hell.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a 14th century mystic named Catherine of Siena. 

      Catherine wrote:

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

Heaven is not only something we will experience when we die, not only a gift we will enjoy for all eternity with God, but, if we make the right choices, if we place our trust in Jesus, if we follow the way of Jesus, heaven begins now.

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

And perhaps it should go without saying that all the way to hell is hell.

Today there are, of course, lots of people like the rich man in today’s parable - accumulating so much, sharing little or nothing with the “Lazaruses” of the world, always wanting more but somehow, way more than enough is still never enough, always hungry, never satisfied, never joyful.

In the words of today’s lesson from First Timothy: “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.”

A bad way to go through life.

All the way to hell really is hell.

But when we are “Beatitude People” like Sister June, we experience heaven right here and now.

Just one example:

Last Saturday, the Afghan family living in Gilead House 2 invited some of us over to the house for a thank you lunch. I hadn’t been there since we dedicated the house a few months ago, so it was just wonderful to see how they have transformed it into a home, into their home, and so beautiful to experience their warm hospitality expressed through carefully prepared and very delicious food.

I’m pretty sure that’s what heaven is like: an abundant feast shared among people from all over, strangers who have become beloved friends.

“All the way to heaven is heaven.”

Sister June’s life and death and her beautiful funeral have been a powerful reminder for me – a reminder to devote my life to my particular corner of God’s kingdom, to be, with God’s help, a “Beatitude Person,” doing my best to make real Jesus’ downside-up vision of the kingdom of God.

With God’s help, may we all be “Beatitude People,” right here and now, all of us, together, all the way to heaven.

Amen.

Everybody Counts, Everyone Matters

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills

September 14, 2025

Year C, Proper 19: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28

Psalm 14

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

Everybody Counts, Everyone Matters

Last week, Sister June Favata died.

June was a Sister of Charity who devoted nearly her entire adult life, nearly her entire vocation, to St. Vincent Academy, an all-girls high school located in the center of Newark, New Jersey.

She arrived as a young nun in 1969 and played a key role in leading, sustaining, and developing the school until her health failed, just a year or two ago.

Thirty-three years ago, I applied for a position at St. Vincent’s as a history teacher. Fortunately, they called me in for an interview and so, on a memorable day, I rode the PATH train from Jersey City to Newark and then boarded a bus to take me from Penn Station to the school.

Back then, I didn’t really know Newark, so I was startled, even a little frightened, when the bus left the business district and moved deeper into the city where there were blocks and blocks of rubble, with the occasional lone building standing – I saw a city still scarred by the uprising that had occurred back in 1967 and the following years of disinvestment and abandonment.

Seeing all that devastation, I confess that I wondered just what I was getting myself into?

But I really needed a job, so I kept going.

Finally, the bus rounded a low hill and there was St. Vincent’s, a red brick 19th century building standing tall amid the empty lots and various efforts at urban renewal.

I spent most of that day with Sister June in her office.

She told me the story of St. Vincent’s, how, back in the late 60’s and early 70’s when lots of Newark institutions were closing or moving out to the suburbs, the Sisters of Charity and their co-workers made the decision to stay, and to keep on educating the girls of Newark and the surrounding towns.

Now, all these years later, that day is a bit of a blur, but I do remember two things that June told me.

One was that she saw the mission of the school in profoundly Christian terms. Yes, we were teaching these girls our subject content and life skills but really, we were playing our part in what she called “the ongoing redemption of the world” – that by teaching and nurturing these girls, we were continuing the saving work of Jesus right there in Newark.

And second, she was frank that this might sometimes be a hard job and, like at any school, occasionally my students might disappoint, frustrate, or even anger me, but I must always remember that each one of them was absolutely loved and cherished by someone – a parent, a grandparent, an older sibling – someone who loved them so much that they made the sacrifice to send them to St. Vincent’s.

And then she added, that even if that were not the case, each one of these girls was unconditionally loved by God.

And so, I should do likewise.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about the Baptismal Covenant and, as a Roman Catholic nun, I’m sure June didn’t either, but she certainly understood and lived the call to seek and serve Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as our self, to respect the dignity of every human being. 

        I wish I could say that I loved unconditionally during my five years teaching at St. Vincent’s (yes, I got the job!), or at any other time of my life, but I haven’t forgotten Sister June’s words, her teaching and example, which really was the teaching and example of Jesus.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus offers two parables, two parables that share a simple and obvious structure: lost, found, rejoicing.

And Jesus teaches us that the rejoicing of the shepherd and the woman is kind of like the rejoicing in heaven when a sinner repents.

Amen. 

But, as I’ve sat with these parables during this tragic and disturbing week, a week when our need for repentance is more obvious than ever, a week when it feels like Jeremiah’s grim prophecy in today’s first lesson is being fulfilled, as I’ve sat with these parables, I keep thinking how both stories are… a little over the top.

Jesus begins by asking, “which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost…?

Well, I’m pretty sure the correct answer is nobody – no shepherd would do that!

And the woman, sure, I get looking for the missing coin but then, after you find it, inviting your friends over for a party to celebrate?

I’m not the most social guy, but that seems like overdoing it.

But, with our summer reading fresh in my mind, and during this terrible week, this is the message I kept hearing in my heart:

Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

And so, yes, that one sheep is so important that the shepherd risks a whole lot to find it and save it – and that coin matters so much that, yeah, when you find it, you throw a party.

Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

This is not the way of the world, but it is God’s way.

For our over-the-top God, everybody counts.

And so, as Sister June and so many holy Christians down through the ages have understood and embodied, everyone, every precious human being, should matter to us.

So, Charlie Kirk and his grieving family, they count.

And the two students injured in the shooting at Evergreen High School in Colorado, they matter.

        And Iryna Zarutska, stabbed to death on the Charlotte light rail, she counts.

And Minnesota legislator Melissa Hortman and her husband Mark who, along with their dog, were shot and killed in their home, they matter.

And Fletcher Merkel and Harper Moyski, the two children killed at Annunciation Church in Minneapolis, they count.

And Republicans, Democrats, Independents, and the many people who want no part of any of it, they matter.

And people whose ancestors arrived on the Mayflower and our Afghan friends, they count.

And people who are poor, rich, or somewhere in-between, they matter.

And people who are white, black, brown or any color, of any culture or creed, they count.

And people who are straight, gay, transgender, they matter.

And people we love and like and agree with and people we dislike or don’t understand or even fear, they count.

And hardest of all, the twisted, broken, violent people, the people poisoned by the internet, the people who say and do so many terrible things, yes, even they matter.

For God, everybody counts.

And so, for us, everyone must matter, too.

This is hard, believe me, I know, but we Christians are an Easter people.

We know – we know – that hate, suffering, and death do not get the last word.

So, let me tell you where I am finding Easter hope.

First, right here with all of you.

Last week was Renewal Sunday, but the truth is that our renewal is ongoing, the work of a lifetime.

We’re not perfect, but, week after week, there is so much faithfulness and devotion here, so much sacrifice, a warm welcome offered to everyone, an increasingly diverse group of people praying and serving together, loving one another.

We are playing our part in the ongoing redemption of the world.

This place matters – and you, all of you, count.

And reflecting on Sister June’s life and legacy has given me Easter hope, too.

Today, if you were to take that same bus ride through Newark, things look a lot different than they did 33 years ago.

Where there were rubble-strewn lots, now there are townhomes with carefully tended little patches of grass, there are new businesses and an expanded community college.

And when you round the low hill, St. Vincent’s still stands tall, but beside the old red brick building, there is a newer structure, one that was just a dream when I taught there, a building with state-of-the-art labs, a beautiful gym, and more.

And thanks to Facebook, I’ve managed to keep up with some of the girls I taught long ago – the girls who June taught me were treasured by their families, loved unconditionally by God.

And those girls are now women in their 40’s, working as doctors, teachers, nurses, lawyers, businesswomen, scientists – many of them are now moms raising their own families, with some sending their daughters to St. Vincent’s.

This is the power of God’s love, shared in and through people like Sister June, people like any of us.

      This is the ongoing redemption of the world.

      So, with the help of our over-the-top God, as we go forward together, may we always remember:

      Everybody counts.

Everyone matters.

Amen.

Our Discipleship Team

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 7, 2025

Year C, Proper18: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 18:1-11

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

Philemon 1-21

Luke 14:25-33

Our Discipleship Team

One of the many good things happening at St. Thomas’ is that we have a steady stream of newcomers checking out our church, both online and in person, and then often jumping in as members.

In fact, over just the past couple of weeks I’ve met with some of these wonderful people, sitting in my office talking about the church and getting to know each other a little bit, telling at least some of our stories.

How did we get here?

This means that I also share some of my story – the story I’ve shared with you over these past four years – the story that, by now, might be getting a little stale for you.

But it’s all brand-new for the newcomers!

And, when I get to the part of my story about moving here from Jersey City, very often people will say something like, “Oh that must have been a big change,” or they’ll ask, “Was that a tough transition?”

Honestly, not really.

Because one thing I’ve learned over the years is that people are people.

Yes, we’re all individuals with our own strengths, weaknesses, particular challenges, quirks but we really are way more alike than different.

So, in every church where I’ve served, people wrestle with their faith, want to learn more, want their lives to have meaning and purpose, want the church to help them be their best selves.

Everywhere I’ve been, parents want their children to thrive, adult children care for their aging parents, new relationships are built and some relationships fall apart, some ministries thrive while others never catch on or simply reach the end of the line, people disagree about issues both big and small, there are births, illnesses, and deaths, baptisms, weddings, and funerals.

We’re more alike than different.

That said, there are a few things here that have taken some getting used to.

Probably the biggest one is that I have to drive everywhere – I do miss just being able to walk down the street!

        But really, that is a very small sacrifice for living in the beautiful home you’ve provided for us, surrounded by our own personal park.

        And the other thing that’s taken some getting used to is that sports sure are a big deal here.

        The Ravens home games have a real effect on our church attendance, so much so that during the season we check the schedule before planning any major church events.

        After last night’s unbelievable bottom-of-the-ninth, two outs,  come-from-behind Orioles win, I’m feeling kind of sports crazed myself, but mostly I’m thinking of school sports, which seems a little more intense, more all-consuming, than other places I’ve been.

        But, although this wasn’t really my experience growing up – I was never much of an athlete, a big surprise, I know – I think I understand the appeal, I get why kids put so much of their time and energy into sports, why parents and grandparents give up so much time for practices and games, all those trips in the minivan.

        There’s fun, of course, and there’s the satisfaction of setting goals and working hard to achieve them.

        Learning good sportsmanship is important, too, how to be a gracious winner and not a sore loser.

        And there’s the importance of working as a team – teamwork – finding ways for everybody to contribute their gifts, to hold up one another, knowing that victory – success – is not possible on our own.

        I know that not everyone here is into sports – and I may be stretching things a little bit – but I wonder if your “sportiness” is one of the reasons we have such a great team here at St. Thomas’ – maybe the lessons you’ve learned on the field or on the court have helped to make St. Thomas’ such a great team.

        In describing the church, St. Paul uses the image of the body – just like the body needs all its parts to be working together in harmony – the same is true for the church, the Body of Christ.

        Sometimes, St. Paul and other early Christian writers also used athletic imagery to describe the Christian life. My favorite is from the Letter to the Hebrews:

        “Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us…”

        In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus teaches about the high demands, the high cost of discipleship.

        He uses exaggeration, hyperbole, to make his point. We’re not really called to hate the people we love the most, but we are called to put Christ, to put following Christ, above everyone and everything else. 

        When we place Christ first, we are able to love people even more fully and generously.

        But it’s not easy. 

        And in a few minutes, we’re all going to renew our Baptismal Covenant, saying words, again making the big promises that remind us what Christian discipleship looks like: seeking and serving Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as our self.

        With each promise we make, we say “with God’s help.”

        But maybe should revise that a little.

        “With God’s help, and as a member of this team.”

        Discipleship is impossible without God’s help.

        And discipleship is impossible on our own.

        We can really only be Christians as members of a church, only as members of our discipleship team, a team where everyone is important and cherished, a team where we set big goals, where we all contribute our gifts, where we work for the ongoing renewal of the church, where we challenge each other to be better, where, together, we celebrate our successes and mourn our losses.

        For me, the greatest blessing of St. Thomas’ is the opportunity to be part of, to help lead, our discipleship team.

        It’s a team made up of many different teams – you might call them “special teams.”

        There are our officers – and in my short time here, you and I have been blessed with exceptional wardens – Tony, Jesse, Barritt, and Sana – along with the other officers and our vestry members, they have continued a long St. Thomas’ tradition of outstanding lay leaders.

        There’s our hardworking, devoted, and talented staff – every day it’s an honor and joy to work beside them.

        And there are all those other “special teams” – choir, acolytes, lay readers and chalicists, outreach, finance, handicrafters, Sunday School and preschool teachers, ushers, Green Team, Altar Guild, and on and on.

        At our Wednesday service – which is its own special team – we often talk about how blessed we are to be here, and we lament that there are so many people out there who don’t have what we have.

        It’s hard to lack community.

        And it’s impossible to be a Christian on your own.

        So, of course, we share what we have, getting the word out as best we can, welcoming everyone who walks over that well-worn threshold.

        Here, there are no try-outs and nobody ever gets cut.

        Here, there are no benchwarmers – everyone has an important position to play.

        Here, victory is loving more fully and giving more generously.

        Everyone is invited to be part of the discipleship team we call St. Thomas’.

        May God continue to bless the renewal of our hearts and the renewal of our team.

        Amen.