Emptying / Replenishing

Emptying / Replenishing

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 27, 2026

Year A, Proper 21: The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32

Psalm 25:1-8

Philippians 2:1-13

Matthew 21:23-32

Some of you know the story of how I first got interested in poetry.

It was all thanks to my longstanding habit of reading newspaper obituaries!

Like many other people, I appreciate reading about the lives of different people – their achievements, failures – their legacies, for better or worse.

Well, at some point on October 28, 2020, I read the obituary of a poet named Diane di Prima – I had never heard of her, but I was interested to learn about her adventurous and counter-cultural life.

But what really caught my eye and captured my imagination – and really began my journey into poetry - was an excerpt included in the obituary from one of her later poems called “The Poetry Deal.” In the poem, di Prima addresses “Poetry” itself, as a kind of muse. 

Here’s the excerpt:

I’d like my daily bread however

you arrange it, and I’d also like

to be bread, or sustenance for

some others even after I’ve left.

A song they can walk a trail with.

It was the line, “I’d also like to be bread” that jumped out at me.

Over the past six years, I’ve thought a lot about those words, and I’ve even quoted di Prima’s poem in a couple of sermons.

Now, di Prima was a committed Buddhist, but she did have a Catholic background, and I think we can hear in her poem obvious echoes of the Eucharist, of Holy Communion.

Each time we gather around the table, Jesus becomes bread for us, nourishing us, uniting us with him and with one another.

And then when we leave this place, carrying the Bread of Life in our bodies and our souls, we are meant to be bread for others, bread for the world, giving of ourselves to help satisfy the world’s great hunger for justice, mercy, peace, and, most of all, love.

My spiritual director and I have spent a fair amount of time reflecting on this image of “being bread,” of giving away our lives as food for the world.

And I see our beautiful and super-active servant church “being bread” all the time. I see you “being bread” in all the life-changing ministries that, with God’s help, you make happen, day after day.

Of course, when we give away our lives in service to others, we are following the way of Jesus.

I’d like to draw your attention back to our second lesson from St. Paul’s Letter to the Philippians.

In this beautiful passage, Paul describes the self-emptying of Christ – the self-emptying of God in a particular person, in a particular time and place, Jesus of Nazareth.

The beautiful Greek word for this self-emptying is kenosis.

And to describe this self-emptying, most scholars think that Paul quotes a very early Christian hymn:

 “Christ Jesus…who, though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.”

Jesus gives away his life in his teaching and healing, gives away his life in his conflicts with the religious authorities who wonder about the source of his authority.

Jesus gives away his life in his patience with his own followers, and in his arrest, torture and death – what sure seemed like the end but was instead the glorious beginning.

Self-emptying.

Emptying.

But that’s not the whole story, because throughout the gospels, we also see Jesus replenishing.

At several points, we’re told that Jesus heads out into the wilderness, for some time alone in prayer with the Father.

Now, this didn’t always work out – the crowds and Jesus’ own followers were determined to find him, hungry for more teaching, more healing, more bread – but, at least sometimes, Jesus was able to shake them and find some time and space to rest and replenish.

Emptying / replenishing.

Emptying / replenishing.

As you know, my sabbatical begins this week and today will be my last Sunday with you for about two months.

One parishioner asked me if this sabbatical was just a cover while I look for a new job! So, just in case you’ve had the same thought, let me reassure you – or, maybe, disappoint you – that I’m very happy here – I mean, really, what could be better than what God gives us at St. Thomas’?

In fact, the truth is I have never been more content – and actually, it’s one of the reasons I have mixed feelings about the sabbatical – I don’t want to miss out on so much good stuff that’s happening here, all that’s coming up in the next two months.

Of course, even in a place as wonderful as this, there are always challenges, problems, and, yes, suffering.

And one of my ongoing worries for St. Thomas’ is that all the activity of our super-active servant church is going to wear you out, that all this “doing” is going to burn us out, leave us empty, no longer able to be bread for anybody.

The concern about burnout is one of the reasons why sabbaticals are included in clergy contracts.

But I am acutely aware that most people – that you – don’t ever get a sabbatical.

There’s no sabbatical from work.

And the heavily scheduled kids of today don’t experience the long, lazy summer sabbaticals that many of us remember.

And, of course, there’s no sabbatical from being a parent or grandparent.

And, for all of us, there’s no sabbatical from bills to pay, no sabbatical from fears of illness and loss, no sabbatical from grief, no sabbatical from the problems of the world and our land, no sabbatical from the high cost of filling the gas tank.

So, since I’m the only one getting a sabbatical, I worry that here at St. Thomas’ there’s a whole lot of emptying, but maybe not so much replenishing.

Now, of course, I hope we are replenished when we gather here on Sunday, when we have fellowship together, or when we come together on Zoom Bible and book study, or when we join together on Wednesdays at noon for Communion and anointing, or when we gather around the library table on Thursday mornings.

I hope we are replenished by all of that and more, but I worry it’s just not quite enough.

So, I looked into this and, unfortunately, I do not have the power to grant you all a sabbatical.

I would if I could, believe me.

But I can make a request, a promise, and a suggestion.

Over the next two months, I ask that you pray for me – pray that I will not squander this precious gift, that I will accept the opportunity to replenish, and return renewed and refreshed – and I also ask that you pray for Sana Brooks and Rev. Amelia and everyone who will carry more responsibility - and do more work - while I’m gone.

And my promise is that I will pray for you.

And now, my suggestion.

I suggest that you take a mini-sabbatical.

If you don’t regularly pray, spend, I don’t know, a minute, five minutes, telling God what you’re thankful for, what you hope for, what you fear and worry about. Maybe pray for all the many people on our prayer list.

Other mini-sabbatical suggestions:

Turn off the cable news, already!

Maybe start keeping a journal – maybe a “spillage journal” – just let it flow and discover what’s in your heart.

Maybe reach out to an old friend, or someone you know could really use a boost.

Maybe just look out the window for few minutes, look and listen – really listen to the sounds, watch the leaves fall from the trees.

Maybe write a poem – just for you - it really doesn’t have to rhyme, you know!

Maybe come by the Old School Building for Evening Prayer or Morning Prayer, our beautiful and most quiet services.

Come up with your own ideas – you know what’s best for you - and the mini-sabbatical possibilities are endless.

I really hope you’ll give it a try.

And then, with God’s help, two months from now we will all be a little more renewed, replenished, filled with even more bread. 

More bread to share with our hungry world.

Amen.