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.