Being and Doing

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 22, 2026

Year A: The First Sunday in Lent

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

Psalm 32

Romans 5:12-19

Matthew 4:1-11

Being and Doing

One of the many problems and challenges of today is the relentless news cycle.

There is so much information, so much opinion and outrage, coming at us all the time that it’s hard for us to absorb it, and it’s nearly impossible for us to slow down and reflect on what’s happening.

There’s just not much time for any of that because, in a minute, some new scandal or worry will arise, and round and round we go.

This relentless news cycle keeps many of us distracted and feeling anxious and overwhelmed, very destructive for our health, for our souls.

But occasionally, something breaks through the noise, something breaks through the chaos. Something or someone gets our attention and, if we’re fortunate, reminds us of our essential goodness, reminds us that it’s possible for us to live lives of peace, harmony, courage, integrity, and love.

Like many of you, I’m sure, I’ve been thinking a lot about Kitty Washburne.

I’m so glad that I had the chance to know her during the last years of her long life – a life devoted to family, friends, education, nature, and faith – a life that she herself recognized as quite blessed – a life that she was prepared to leave, trusting in the God who had sustained her for nearly a century.

For many of us, Kitty’s death has kind of stopped us in our tracks, you know? Her leaving us has been a reminder of what is most important.

Before Kitty’s death, I had also been thinking a lot about the Walk for Peace that recently concluded not far from us, in Annapolis.

You probably know the story because it really did break through the noise and captured our attention and our imaginations.

Back in October, a group of 24 Buddhist monks and their dog Aloka, began a walk of over 2,000 miles, starting in Ft. Worth, Texas, walking along public roads, covering about 20 miles each day.

A few of the monks chose to offer an even deeper sacrifice, walking barefoot.

Most days, during their midday break and in the evening, the monks offered a teaching to whoever showed up, but their most powerful teaching was the walk itself, which they hoped would raise “awareness of peace, loving kindness, and compassion across America and the world.”

The Walk for Peace demanded great sacrifice – during much of their journey through the South the monks endured brutal winter weather, and in a terrible incident, a truck hit the monks’ escort vehicle, which then injured two of the monks, including one who lost a foot and part of his leg.

And even their dog Aloka needed to have leg surgery along the way, endearing him to even more people.

The Walk for Peace really was an extraordinary, even heroic, event. And I’m sure many of us wondered where and how the monks found the inspiration and strength to keep going, for all those weeks, over all those miles.

Well, I’m pretty sure that this a group of spiritually mature and deeply rooted people, people who have a lot of practice at meditation and prayer, people good at simply “being.”

And by being good at simply “being,” they are also good at “doing.”

Being and doing.

We are now just a few days into the 40 days of Lent.

As we do every Lent, we’ve made a few changes here in church, putting away or veiling most of our shiny things, placing a heavier emphasis on our confession of sin and the absolution, and we’ll refrain from saying the “A word” until Easter morning.

All these changes are meant to grab our attention, to cut through the noise, to remind us that this is a season for us to repent, to sacrifice, and to devote even just a little bit of time to prayer, both here, together, and on our own.

Lent is an opportunity to become little better at simply being, which will make us better at doing the work God gives us to do.

And today, on the First Sunday in Lent, we hear the story of Jesus’ own forty-day experience, his time in the wilderness, tempted by Satan.

As ever, Satan’s temptations are quite clever, suggesting to the starving Jesus that he just turn these stones into bread.

Satan’s temptations are quite clever, inviting Jesus to jump from the Temple, go ahead, Jesus, put your faith to the test.

Satan’s temptations are quite clever, offering Jesus the whole world, if only Jesus would worship him.

Well, of course, Jesus doesn’t fall for it. 

But why was the starving and exhausted Jesus able to resist Satan?

Well, Jesus is the Son of God. So, there’s that.

But it’s not only that.

Just before his 40 days in the wilderness, Jesus was baptized by John in the River Jordan.

     Just as Jesus came up out of the water, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit descending like a dove and a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

     The gospels are full of Jesus “doing” – all his teaching and healing – but at his baptism, Jesus was only “being” - simply receiving God’s gift – just like us at our baptism.

And we know that Jesus was a person of prayer.

The gospels have several stories of him retreating from the crowds, even sometimes trying to get away from his disciples, wanting, needing, some quiet time with the Father.

I would imagine it was prayer – time spent simply being - that inspired Jesus to go to the Jordan to be baptized and begin his work.

And Jesus must have reflected on his baptism.

No doubt, Jesus pondered what he had seen and heard, spending time simply “being” with the Father.

And “being” prepared Jesus for the “doing” of resisting temptation, prepared him, gave him strength, for the long road ahead.

And the same is true for us.

Being and doing.

Not only is today the First Sunday in Lent, it’s also Annual Meeting Day.

I hope you will stick around for our meeting.

And I hope you’ll read our voluminous, highly detailed report, which a lot of people put a lot of time and effort into, most especially our Parish Administrator, Jane Farnan.

In our report, the stories of “doing” are obvious and amazing:

Teaching our children, caring for our buildings and grounds, assisting at worship, planning for our future, being good stewards, serving the community beyond our church doors.

Yes, there are so many stories of “doing”:

There’s the tireless and generous work of our amazingly devoted wardens, Barritt Peterson and Sana Brooks, who have supported all of us, especially me. 

      And there’s the devoted and creative work of so many other leaders, both official and unofficial.

There’s a lot of “doing” at St. Thomas’ but, there are also stories of “being.”

Church attendance increased last year; more people have been gathering here, praying here, more often.

We added another weekday service, Evening Prayer on Tuesdays. That service isn’t drawing huge numbers and probably never will, but I have no doubt that the prayers offered by a few of us are a powerful blessing for the whole community.

There’s the Adult Bible Study – so many of you reading and reflecting deeply, wrestling with Scripture, and now pondering The Screwtape Letters.

And my sense is that more of you are reading Forward Day by Day and using some of the prayer apps out there, spending more time simply being with God.

You know, it’s a running joke around the office and among some of our leaders that I like an “active” church.

That’s true. And, judging by all the action in the Annual Report, a lot of you agree with me!

Our active church – our servant church - is doing so much good.

But we’re likely to burn out and fail if our “doing” is not balanced by, not replenished by, “being.”

Unfortunately, the news cycle is not going to slow down anytime soon.

No doubt, there will be many challenges, dangers, and temptations on the long road ahead.

There will always be plenty to do.

So, especially this Lent, let’s follow the example of our brother Jesus, the person of prayer.

      Let’s follow the example of the Buddhist monks, spiritually rooted before they undertook their long journey of peace. 

      And let’s follow the example of the very active Kitty Washburne, sustained and strengthened by all those quiet, mindful hours tending her garden.

May we be a people of being and doing.

Amen.

Cross of Ash, Cross of Oil

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 18, 2026

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

Psalm 103

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Cross of Ash, Cross of Oil

    Today – Ash Wednesday – is one of the most solemn days of the Church Year.

    And it’s also one of the strangest days of the year.

    It’s a particularly strange day for priests who, over and over, make a cross of ashes on forehead after forehead, young and old, sick and healthy, telling everyone to remember that someday they – we – are going to die.

    But, if that’s all that Ash Wednesday is about, then I don’t think it makes much sense to gather here today.

    Most of us probably don’t need to be reminded of our mortality – especially not here, where we have attended funerals for people we have known and loved – especially not here, where we are surrounded by so many who have gone before us, our beloved dead buried in our cemetery, people who lived, loved, lost, rejoiced, wept, hoped.

    Just like us.

    No, today is not just about being reminded about death.

    And in today’s gospel lesson, Jesus warns us against being a religious show-off.

    This is the same gospel lesson we always hear on Ash Wednesday, which is a little funny and ironic because today is the only day we bear a physical sign vouching for our church attendance – it’s like an “I Voted” sticker made of ash.

    But I doubt that anyone is here today to impress the people who will see our smudge of ash.

    Which is a good thing, both because Jesus tells us not to do that and, because nobody “out there” cares that we went to church today.

    But rather than a reminder of mortality or a chance to show off, I hope today’s cross of ash will be a reminder of another cross, the cross of oil that we received at our baptism.

    You know, baptism is like both Good Friday and Easter.

    Just as Jesus died and rose again, our old self dies in the water of baptism and then we are born anew.

    And right after our baptism, we are marked on our foreheads with a cross of oil, sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own, forever.

    Marked as Christ’s own. 

    Forever.

    There’s nothing that we could ever do or not do – there’s nothing that could ever happen to us – there’s nothing that could ever dissolve God’s bond with us, nothing that could ever break God’s bond with us.

    Nothing. 

    Never. 

    Ever.

    Not even death itself.

    So, in a moment, on behalf of the church, I will invite us all to a holy Lent.

    And on this solemn and strange day and during this solemn and strange season, yes, we should remember that this life is precious and finite.

    We are dust and to dust we shall return.

    But let’s also remember the cross of oil that can never be wiped away.

    Let’s remember and celebrate God’s bond of love with us – a bond stronger than death, a bond stronger than anything.

Amen.

Everyday Mountaintop Experiences

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 15, 2026

Year A: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Exodus 24:12-18

Psalm 2

2 Peter 1:16-21

Matthew 17:1-9

Everyday Mountaintop Experiences

Today we reach the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before the start of Lent on Wednesday.

      On Ash Wednesday, we will gather here to be reminded that we are dust and to dust we shall return.

     We will receive crosses of ash to remember that someday we will die – which most of us are well aware of – but these ashes are also a sign of our total dependence on God, the God who not let go of us, never, not even in death.

Lent is a season for repentance and sacrifice. 

      And Lent is also a powerful call to mindfulness, a season to really pay attention to what’s going on in our lives, seeking signs of God’s presence, God’s activity, within and among us.

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that I talked about synchronicity and keeping a synchronicity journal.

For the past couple of years, I have been keeping a journal. I’ve tried to do this a few times in the past, but this is the first time I’ve been consistent about it.

It’s not specifically a synchronicity journal but almost every day, I’ve managed to write one page. I think that’s the key. One page feels manageable, doable, to me. 

Aiming for more than that, or just being open-ended about it, would be overwhelming and I would convince myself that I just don’t have the time for it and my mostly blank journal would eventually get shoved into the back of some drawer.

But I can almost always manage one page.

Partly my journal is just a record of what happened – where I went, what I saw, did, and said, and what other people said and did.

Sometimes I write about hard stuff – misunderstandings, conflict, illness, death – and other times I record joy – wonderful, often unexpected, blessings.

And occasionally I write short prayers – very short, I’ve only got one page – asking God’s help with something or offering written prayers for particular people.

      And sometimes I even remember to write “thank you.” 

So, if you are still looking for a Lenten practice – there’s certainly nothing wrong with giving up a bad habit or refraining from some luxury – but I think journaling can be a very powerful and beneficial practice.

Maybe because it makes me slow down and pay attention, journaling has also refreshed my memory – helping me recall things that I had buried in the past – embarrassing things, regrets, sins, yes – but the journal also helps me remember long-ago blessings that I had forgotten, especially seemingly small moments, what we might call everyday mountaintop experiences

Everyday mountaintop experiences.

At the end of last week, I made a quick trip to Jersey City to visit my parents and my sister – everything’s fine, I just hadn’t seen them in a couple of months.

As perhaps you’ve heard, I lived most of my life in Jersey City so, of course, there are so many memories there, just about everywhere I look.

But on this visit, besides seeing my family, I also spent time on the campus of St. Peter’s Prep, my high school alma mater, the school where I later taught history until I left for seminary and priesthood.

It was so good to be back, but also a little disorienting. I hadn’t been inside the school in nearly ten years, so lots of things are quite different.

And yet, despite all the changes, my mind was flooded by many memories, including two that I would call everyday mountaintop experiences.

So, when I was growing up, my family always just assumed that I would go to St. Peter’s Prep. 

I guess my family really believed in me because, not to brag, but St. Peter’s was and is the best Catholic boys’ school around – it’s just a fact!

I’m not sure how much pressure I felt about the assumption I would go to St. Peter’s. I think I always just believed it, too. And I was a pretty good student, with one painful exception: math.

I always struggled with math.

I didn’t understand it – and, honestly, once we got past arithmetic, I just didn’t see the point.

I had absolutely no interest in solving for x.

But, despite my poor math skills, I was indeed accepted by St. Peter’s Prep, and those four years shaped the rest of my life.

So, here’s the first memory:

One day in my freshman year, I was pushing open one of the swinging doors that led to a stairwell when suddenly I heard the bells ringing from the Orthodox church across the street, which was a daily event.

But in that moment – I can still see it and feel it – in that moment, I thought, “I’m here. I’m really here. I go to St. Peter’s Prep.”

And I was flooded with gratitude and amazement that I had made it and it was really happening,

Everyday mountaintop experiences.

And here’s the second memory:

After I graduated, I had really hoped to return to St. Peter’s as a teacher. I thought that would just be the best job ever and if I managed to land a spot, I was sure I would stay there for the rest of my life.

(Yes, I know, I know, God is full of surprises!)

Well, it took a couple of tries but eventually I got it – I was hired to teach history.

That was big – and I was so excited.

There was just one kind of awkward, frightening situation.

Many of my teachers were still on the faculty – and, besides having to force myself to call them by their first names – that was fine.

Except there was this one math teacher…

A math teacher who, I have to say, had been pretty tough on me – a math teacher who had seen me at my academic worst – a math teacher who I was sure was thinking, “My God, this school is really going down the drain if they’ve hired the likes of Murphy!”

And then it was the first day back from summer vacation, the first faculty meeting, and before the start of business we were all chatting in the library, catching up, making introductions. At one point, from across the room my former math teacher caught my eye, and she summoned me by curling her finger.

I made my way over like I was heading to my execution.

But when I got close to her, she suddenly smiled and she said, “Good things come to those who wait.”

In that moment I just felt huge relief but as I remember it now, I think of it as a sign that we are not defined by our weaknesses and mistakes – we are more than that in God’s heart and in the hearts of others, even really tough math teachers.

Everyday mountaintop experiences.

On this last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before Lent, we always hear the story of the Transfiguration – much more than an everyday mountaintop experience for Jesus and for his friends, Peter, James, and John.

The Transfiguration is a vision with rich symbolism:

Jesus is affirmed by the presence of two central figures of Israel’s past: Moses and Elijah.

Jesus is both transformed but still himself, a foreshadowing of Easter.

  And much like at Jesus’ baptism, a voice from heaven announces: “This is my Son, my Beloved; with him I well pleased; listen to him!”

The most poignant moment in the story is when Peter wants to build dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Peter wants to memorialize this mountaintop experience, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

And who can blame him, right?

But, of course, that’s not the way it works.

And so, Jesus and his friends come down the mountain and begin the journey to Jerusalem and all that awaits them there.

We all know that feeling of returning to the ordinary after an extraordinary experience.

We all know what it feels like to face something frightening, to face something painful.

        And yet, in the ordinary times, and even in the hard times, there are everyday mountaintop experiences: simple, beautiful, powerful moments when we can feel God’s presence, God’s activity, within and among us.

If only we remember to pay attention.

Amen.

Synchronicity

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 8, 2026

Year A: The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 58:1-12

Psalm 112

1 Corinthians 2:1-16

Matthew 5:13-20

Synchronicity

Well, the leaders of our church had a very busy January.

As most of you know, throughout the month we held Focus Group meetings on Sundays after the morning services and on Zoom during the week.

These meetings were an opportunity for our leaders to present a vision of how we might meet some of our current needs and to dream a little bit about the future of this old but quite active church.

It was really gratifying to see how many of you attended the meetings – sometimes coming back for more – and it was great that so many of you shared your own ideas and hopes.

A month ago, the kitchen was much lower on our priority list than it is now.

And we heard you about enhancing our offerings for children and youth.

Whatever we decide about a capital campaign – whatever the outcome of this process – the work we’ve been doing – the work itself – has been holy and valuable.

In spiritual terms, we’ve been engaged in discernment – sacred listening and reflection – opening our eyes, ears, minds, and hearts to determine God’s will for us – trying our best to follow where God is leading.

Unfortunately, discernment is often limited to people like Rev. Amelia and me, who have “discerned” that we are called to ordained ministry.

But God is always calling all of us – both lay and ordained.

God is always calling us onward, nudging us forward.

But God is usually subtle, so we have to pray and listen and reflect on our own, and together as a community.

When I was in seminary, I actually took a whole class about discernment.

It was a great course, though I sometimes think I should have paid more attention – I’ve kind of zigzagged a lot over these past twenty years.

But one of the discernment exercises that we did in the class has stuck with me: we were each asked to create a synchronicity journal. 

A synchronicity journal.

The idea was that when we wrote in our journal, we should pay close attention to how different strands of our life that might seem disconnected could be heading in the same direction, kind of like a spiritual merge onto the “Beltway” of life.

So, here’s a very basic example: let’s say the rector of your church suggested that, you know, you would make a great lector. Would you consider reading the lessons or leading the prayers in church?

“Hmm. Well, thank you! I’ll consider it.”

And then, during the week somebody at work says to you, you know, you have a great voice. Have you ever done radio or voiceovers?

Well, that would be a couple of different strands, from different parts of your life, seemingly coincidental but, in fact, converging, heading in the same direction.

And so, in your synchronicity journal, you might notice these converging strands and write about that and think about how God might be calling you – how God might be calling you to use your voice.

Now, synchronicity isn’t magic and you can’t force it, but when you really start paying attention, you’re likely to become more aware of God’s call and God’s will.

And synchronicity isn’t just something that happens to us.

With God’s help, we can choose synchronicity.

We can line up the different strands of our life so they all point in more or less the same direction.

We can live lives of integrity and consistency.

We can live in a way so that what we say and do here in church matches what we say and do out in the world.

Which brings me to today’s powerful and challenging first lesson from the Prophet Isaiah.

Here’s the context:

In the 6th Century BCE, at least some of the people of Israel returned from exile in Babylon.

They had thought that once they got back home, all their problems would be solved, and God would restore Israel’s might, power, and glory.

But that has not happened – and the people are puzzled.

I mean, they think they’re doing everything right – they’re going to the temple and making the required sacrifices – the necessary prayers are being offered – they’re even fasting, for heaven’s sake.

And still nothing.

So, what’s the problem?

Well, speaking through the Prophet Isaiah, God gives the answer: Your worship and prayer and sacrifices don’t match how you are living your lives.

While you’re busy being “religious,” you’re also oppressing your workers.

      While you’re busy being “religious,” you’re fighting among yourselves.

      This inconsistency, this incongruity, is a sad state of affairs – one that should be familiar to us because throughout history - and certainly today - we’ve seen people say they are Christians, wear shiny symbols of our faith, go to church and pray piously, and then go out into the world and say and do the most appalling things.

      It’s a sad state of affairs, but God didn’t leave the people Israel there.

      And God doesn’t leave us there, either.

      God calls us back to synchronicity – back to consistency and integrity between what we say and do in here and what we say and do out there in the world.

      God says:

 Is not this the fast that I choose:

to loose the bonds of injustice,

to undo the thongs of the yoke,

to let the oppressed go free,

and to break every yoke?

        Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,

and bring the homeless poor into your house;

when you see the naked, to cover them,

and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

        Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,

and your healing shall spring up quickly;

your vindicator shall go before you,

the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.

        Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer;

you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

Today, considering what’s going on around us, we might want to take the bulletin home with us and reread those words - reflect, and pray on those words.

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus picks up on the theme of light – calling us to let our light shine – not to brag, not to be praised or admired by others, but so people give glory to God.

And, you know, the fastest way for us to dim our light is by being inconsistent between how we are in here and how we are out there.

People see and smell that and will rightfully reject us as hypocrites, like so many others.

But if, with God’s help, if we gather the different strands of our life and live synchronous lives – if we live as the same people when we’re in church or at home or at work or at school or in the store or in the car or on the internet – if we live those kinds of lives, then God is glorified. 

      And our overshadowed world will receive much-needed light.

Amen.