New Life Starts in the Dark

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 19, 2025

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

New Life Starts in the Dark

Today is Holy Saturday, the most shadowy, the most unknowable, day of the Christian Year.

By now, the Palm Procession seems like a distant memory.

We have long since digested the Last Supper.

The horror and suffering of Good Friday is mercifully ended.

And Jesus, Jesus is dead – really dead – in the sealed and so very dark tomb.

We all know that even very faithful and devout Christians, even the ones who attend other Holy Week services, skip over this shadowy and unknowable in-between time.

No judgment at all – I get it.

Believe me, I know that there’s a lot to do to get ready for Easter.

And, maybe, for some, this day is just too uncomfortable, too unsettling, too sad – and so we look the other way, move on, and busy ourselves preparing for tomorrow’s most joyful feast.

So why are we here?

        Why is it important to be here?

Well, for one thing, today is a most powerful reminder that in and through Jesus, God has fully entered the human experience, from the helplessness of infancy to the heartbreak of rejection and now, even to death itself.

Something new for God, perhaps. To taste death.

How loved we are that the God of Life would endure  all of this for all of us.

And Holy Saturday also reminds us that no one witnessed the Resurrection itself, not even Mary Magdalene who, as we’ll hear again tomorrow morning, was the first to meet the Risen Lord in the garden.

No one witnessed the Resurrection.

That fact reminds me of a favorite quote from Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and writer. 

She writes, “…new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

“New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

New life starts in the dark.

All of you gardeners know that already. 

And all of us Christians should know it, too.

It got very dark in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, when the Son of God was betrayed, rejected, tortured, and killed.

It was very dark in the tomb.

And, today, our world – and maybe our own life – seems very dark, too.

But, on this shadowy, unknowable, and overlooked day, we hope, and we trust.

We hope and we trust because, especially on Holy Saturday, we know that new life starts in the dark.

Amen.

Remembrance and Service

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 17, 2022

Maundy Thursday 

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Remembrance and Service

For a while, Jesus had predicted his fate, trying to prepare his disciples for all that was going to happen in Jerusalem, during the days around Passover, in a time of turmoil.

But Jesus’ closest friends would not – or could not – accept that their friend, the one they had come to know and love as Lord was going to suffer and die.

We know how it is.

But, in a city on edge, Jesus and his disciples gathered around the table for what everyone must have realized would be their last supper together.

The hard truth was sinking in.

It would have been understandable to simply sit quietly for a while in the terrible sadness of it all, but, instead, Jesus the great teacher uses this precious opportunity to share a few last, most important lessons.

At this last supper with his friends, Jesus takes and blesses bread and wine and promises that he will always be with them – he will always be with us - when we gather together around the table to remember him.

And Jesus also washes the feet of his disciples, an act of service so outrageously lowly that Peter, reasonably enough, is shocked, and insists that he simply will not allow it.

The fisherman says flat out, “You will never wash my feet.”

But Jesus patiently explains that this is how it must be – this is how it must be if Peter and the others want to be part of Jesus, want to be part of his community of love and service.

Hearing that, Peter, finally showing some wisdom, quickly gives in, enthusiastically inviting Jesus to wash not just his feet, but his whole body.

When the foot-washing was complete, Jesus gives his great command – in Latin, the mandatum - that gives Maundy Thursday its name. 

Jesus gives his great command that we are to love one another as he loves us.

And this love is not so much a nice warm feeling.

        No, this love is action – this love is expressed by offering lowly, costly service. This love is shared by washing feet. 

 

        Many of you know that I like to mention how the disciples were often clueless, frequently fell short, they just didn’t get Jesus.

        It’s a consolation for those of us who are often clueless, frequently fall short, just don’t get Jesus.

         But, despite all the turmoil of that night and the days ahead, despite the heartbreak of the cross and the wonder of the empty tomb, despite all of that and much more to come, the disciples remembered.

        They remembered these most important lessons and they passed them down through the generations, all the way to us here this evening.

Especially in our own time of turmoil, these are lessons that we need to hear and learn again.

We are not alone.

Jesus is among us – really with us – in the Bread and the Wine, really present each time we gather and remember him.

And our own time of turmoil has both caused and revealed so much suffering all around us – making us even more acutely aware of just how many feet need washing.

We wash feet by caring for our parishioners who are sick, lonely, sad, frightened.

We wash feet by feeding the people at Paul’s Place, by providing supplies for the people who line up week after week at the Community Crisis Center, by teaching the children at Owings Mills Elementary School.

We wash feet by welcoming and loving our Afghan friends and neighbors.

Yes, especially today, we need to hear and learn the lessons of Jesus, we need to remember his command to love one another.

Near the end of this evening’s service, we will follow the ancient practice of “stripping” the altar, putting away most of sacred objects and furnishings, symbolizing the end of the Last Supper, and preparing for Good Friday.

And, just as Jesus spent the night praying in the garden, we will bring the Bread and Wine, the Body and Blood of Christ, here to our beautiful little garden.

We will conclude in silence.

I invite you to stay for at least a few quiet minutes of prayer and reflection.

Remember Jesus, his teachings, his example, his sacrifice – remember his command for us to love one another.

And recommit to washing feet.

Amen.

The Faithfulness of Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 13, 2025

Year C: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Luke 23:1-49

The Faithfulness of Jesus

Today is the most disorienting day of the Christian year.

It’s a disorienting day with a confusing name.

We call today “The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday.” 

Even our worship on this day – usually so orderly, dignified, predictable - is kind of disorienting.

Some of us began this day outside, where we heard about the first palm parade in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, and then our palms were blessed.

There was a sense of excitement as we started our parade, singing our songs, waving our palms, singing “Hosanna!”  - “Save us!” - as we slowly made our way to the church.

But then we arrived here in this holy place and the mood quickly changed.

And maybe before we realized what was happening, a day that started with an almost festive atmosphere ends with death – a horrible and seemingly quite final, death.

Two thousand years ago, Jerusalem was an occupied city, ruled by the brutal Romans and their various local collaborators, including religious leaders who desperately wanted to keep the peace, or what passed for peace, anyway.

Two thousand years ago, in Jerusalem, it was nearly the Passover, that great Jewish feast recalling God leading God’s people from slavery to freedom, the start of a journey from oppression to the promised land.

Of course, the Romans and their local collaborators were well aware of the festival and its meaning, and were always on high alert during these holy days, ready to crush any uprising, determined to snuff out any would-be kings – or any potential messiahs.

By the time Jesus arrived in Jerusalem just before this particular Passover, his fellow Jews were so hungry for God to act once again – ready for the start of another journey to freedom.

Word had surely gotten around about Jesus of Nazareth – true, he was not quite the messiah that anyone had expected – not very much like Moses or King David – but there was no denying the power of his healings and the wisdom of his teaching.

So, some thought – hoped – expected - that this Jesus of Nazareth was about to start an uprising that would restore Israel’s independence and glory.

Not unlike our little palm parade this morning, there was excitement in the air in Jerusalem that day two thousand years ago.

In a time of turmoil, the people were eager to welcome their new king into his capital city.

But then everything seemed to go so terribly wrong.

It’s usually assumed that some of the same people who had welcomed Jesus with waving branches and by placing their cloaks in the road later turned against him and called for his death.

Maybe they were disappointed that Jesus turned out to not be the kind of messiah they thought they wanted or needed, or maybe they were just swept up in the frenzy of the crowd, finding themselves saying and doing things previously unthinkable.

We know how that can happen.

Today, after two thousand years of mostly bad history and in a time of rising anti-Semitism here in our own country and around the world, it’s especially important to make clear that this is not a story of Jews versus Christians.

It’s important to make absolutely clear that “the Jews” of two thousand years ago were not collectively responsible for the death of Jesus and the Jews of today certainly carry no guilt.

With an assist from their fearful local collaborators, the Romans killed Jesus.

Just like so many people in his own time and so many people today, Jesus was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

Besides, when we cast blame on long-ago people, or their modern-day descendants, we conveniently let ourselves off the hook.

On this most disorienting day we draw near to the mysterious heart of our faith: God enters the world in and through Jesus, inviting us to walk in love.

And we reject him – over and over we reject him, choosing instead hatred and violence.

And yet, God does not give up on us.

Reflecting on the story of Jesus in Jerusalem in a time of turmoil two thousand years ago, I’m always struck by his faithfulness.

We often talk about our faith in Jesus but we should probably talk more about the faith of Jesus.

When the crowds hailed him as he entered his capital city, desperately hoping that he was the king to oust the Romans and their collaborators, Jesus resisted the temptation to give the people what they wanted.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

And later, when his friends deserted him and the powers of the world had their way with him, dishing out their worst, Jesus resisted the temptation to fight back, to reveal his divine power.

And near the end, as his life was slipping away, Jesus resisted the temptation to condemn the people who had turned against him, to curse his friends who had abandoned him.

Instead, Jesus endured the suffering, revealing the depths of God’s love for us.

In a time of turmoil, Jesus remained faithful to God’s mission.

Not unlike the people of Jerusalem two thousand years ago, today we are living in a time of turmoil.

And it is tempting to be unfaithful to our mission and live like pretty much everybody else.

But, as disciples of Jesus, as the Body of Christ in the world, we are called to walk in love, as Christ loved us.

So, in our own time of turmoil, let’s keep our hearts fixed on faithful Jesus, and, especially during this holy week, together, let’s follow him to the cross, the tomb, and to the new life of Easter.

Amen.

When the Tomb is Full

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 30, 2024

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

When the Tomb is Full

This morning we arrive at the most mysterious, most unknowable, most in-between time of the Christian Year.

The Palm Parade seems a distant memory.

The tumult and suffering of Good Friday is mercifully ended.

Jesus has poured out his blood, his love, his life, and his hope for us.

And this morning we remember the hard fact that Jesus really died.

This morning we remember that, for a time, the tomb was not empty.

The tomb was full.

There are many who believe that the best way to observe this day is simply to be quiet.

There’s wisdom to that but the reality is that most, maybe all, of us, won’t be quiet today.

Instead, we’ll keep busy – maybe getting ready for tomorrow.

Or, maybe just doing our usual chores and activities.

So, that’s why I think it’s important to gather this morning and to remember, to face, this mysterious in-between time when Jesus was really dead.

When the tomb was not empty.

It was full.

Scripture is mostly silent on what was going on during this in-between time.

But that hasn’t stopped Christians from speculating, imagining, what it means that Jesus “descended to the dead.”

Some have described what’s called the “Harrowing of Hell,” that Jesus didn’t just descend to the dead but he liberated the dead, leading them out of hell, with Adam and Eve often pictured at the front of the line.

Or, as I like to think, maybe Judas was the first to be freed.

I don’t know. 

But if Jesus is who we say he is, then in some sense God has experienced death.

God knows what it’s like when the tomb is full.

And so, in those times when it feels like our tomb is full, when we are consumed by fear and grief, when we are confronted by betrayal and death, we can be sure that God knows what this is like, that God is beside us, enduring with us.

And, because we know what – we know who – Mary Magdalene will discover in the garden early tomorrow morning, we can be sure that God won’t leave us in our tombs forever.

After the tumult and suffering of yesterday and in this mysterious in-between time today, and with our own worries and the many troubles of the world, we may be feeling empty.

But remember:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

The tomb will not be full forever.

Soon.

Emptiness

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 29, 2024

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22

Hebrews 10:16-25

John 18:1-19:42

Emptiness

We can only call today Good Friday because we know what awaits Jesus and his friends and us.

Without that knowledge, we certainly wouldn’t be here today. 

And Jesus of Nazareth would be just a footnote in history, if that.

We also know that through much of our history Good Friday has been a very bad day for our Jewish brothers and sisters.

So, it’s important to understand that when we remember the events in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we are not recalling a long-ago battle between Jews and Christians.

There were no Christians, yet.

And, with the exception of Pontius Pilate and his fellow Romans, everyone in this sad story, very much including Jesus himself, was Jewish.

And although the religious authorities seemed to feel threatened by Jesus and feared that he, or the people who hailed him as king, would bring on a disaster, it was Pilate and the Romans who executed Jesus.

Jesus, like so many others throughout history and still today, was a victim of state-sponsored violence.

But, over the years, the Church forgot – or chose to forget – this.

And, worst of all, Christians held the Jews of later generations responsible for what happened long ago, unleashing horrific violence, cruelty, and suffering.

Tragedy upon tragedy.

In response to this horrible history, today we used a slightly different but perfectly acceptable translation of the Passion, in most cases replacing “Jews” with “Judeans.”

Especially these days with anti-Semitism on the rise, hopefully this language will help us to recognize that the Jews of today have nothing to do with the events that we remember today. 

And, not only that, but hopefully we will remember that God’s covenant with the Jewish people is eternal. 

The Jews are forever our elder siblings in faith.

After Jesus was baptized and then tempted in the wilderness, he spent his time – three years is the traditional count – he spent his time pouring out his life in loving service to God the Father and to us.

Jesus poured out his life, teaching and healing.

Jesus poured out his life, calling us to lives of loving service, instructing us that true greatness comes through loving service - washing feet – giving away ourselves for God and for one another.

Not an easy teaching, for sure, but pretty simple, really.

And yet, people had a hard time figuring him out.

How did an uneducated craftsman from the sticks become such a compelling teacher, such a powerful healer?

Even Jesus’ closest friends usually didn’t really get it.

Instead, they jockeyed for the best seats in heaven.

They resisted the foot washing  - and one even betrayed Jesus, maybe because he wanted to provoke Jesus into being the kind of king that people recognized and expected – the kind of king they thought they wanted.

Just a few days ago we remembered – and, in a small way, even reenacted -Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

The crowd sure was excited, shouting “Hosanna!” and placing their cloaks and palms along the way.

But even in this moment, which kind of looked like earthly glory, there were signs that maybe this palm parade wasn’t so triumphant, or not triumphant in the ways that everyone expected.

There was no military escort and no dignitaries gathered to greet the King.

And, instead of an imposing horse, this King rode a donkey.

Well, the mood quickly shifted – and maybe it was some of the same Hosanna-shouting, palm-waving people, who soon enough were shouting, “Crucify him!”

Let’s be done with this loser, this disappointment, this sad excuse for a king.

And Jesus, rejected and abandoned by just about everyone, poured out his life on the cross.

Emptiness.

Or so it seemed.

Speaking of emptiness, as I’ve been reflecting on this story from Jerusalem of two thousand years ago, I’ve been struck by the emptiness of most of the characters.

The religious authorities should have trusted in God but instead they were so afraid, afraid of the Romans, afraid of their own people, afraid of losing their positions of power and privilege.

In the gospels, Pontius Pilate is depicted as kind of wishy-washy but another ancient source indicates that he was ruthless, cruel even by the brutal standards of Rome.

And what did that cruelty get him? Worldly power for a while, yes, but forever remembered for executing the Son of God.

And the people, they seem to just follow whichever way the wind is blowing, welcoming Jesus and then quickly turning against him when they realize he’s not the king that they expected – not the kind of king they thought they wanted and needed.

And most of the disciples reveal their emptiness, too, faithless and disloyal, running away, abandoning, even denying, their friend and Lord in his time of need and suffering.

And, perhaps, if we were there two thousand years ago, we would have revealed our own emptiness, too.

On the cross, Jesus offers us his final teaching.

Jesus pours out his life – giving away all of it - in loving service to God the Father and to us.

Emptiness.

Or so it seemed.

Like those people in Jerusalem long ago, we’ve been through a lot.

We’ve been through a lot even in just the last few days.

And today we may be feeling quite empty.

But just wait.

For now, just wait at the foot of the cross.

And on this hard day and on all the hard days, remember:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

Pouring Out Lessons

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 28, 2024

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Pouring Out Lessons

This past Sunday was the most unsettling day of the Christian Year.

In fact, it’s such an unsettling day that we can’t even decide on one name for it.

It’s officially called “The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday.”

At 10:00, we began out in the parking lot with the Palm Procession, remembering and, sort of, reenacting King Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, when he was greeted with palms and shouts of “Hosanna,” which means, “Lord, save us.”

Lord, save us.

But once we got into the church, the mood turned fast, as we quickly, jarringly, jumped ahead from the palms to the Passion.

It turned out that Jesus wasn’t the kind of King that anyone expected or seemed to want. 

Since he wasn’t a mighty warrior like King David, since he wasn’t going to expel the Roman occupiers and restore Israel’s earthly glory, the people turned against him and the Romans brutally killed him as they killed so many other rebels and would-be kings.

On Sunday, before we knew it, we were shouting along with the ancient crowd, “Crucify him!”

Before we knew it, we were at the foot of the Cross, as Jesus poured out himself: his blood, his love, his life, even his hope.

Emptiness.

Or so it seemed.

And now here, this evening, we back up a day.

We’re still in Jerusalem and the “Hosannas” from the Palm Parade must have still been echoing in Jesus’ ears and in the ears of his disciples, his friends.

It’s hard to know if the disciples really got swept up in all the excitement.

Did they remember that Jesus had been predicting for some time that he would be rejected and killed – and that he would rise again on the third day?

How much of that could the notoriously clueless disciples really grasp and truly accept?

I don’t know.

I do know that it’s hard – so very hard – to face that someone we love is going to suffer and die.

But now, during that long ago evening in Jerusalem, as Jesus and his friends gathered around the table for one last meal, the hard truth must have been sinking in.

And so, with time running out, Jesus the Great Teacher offers some final, most important lessons.

Pouring out lessons.

Jesus blesses the bread and the wine and shares it with his friends, saying this is his Body and Blood, poured out for them – poured out for us - his Body and Blood poured into our hearts, each time we gather around the Table and remember him.

And to the shock and dismay of Peter and probably the others, too, Jesus gets up from the table, pours water into a basin and begins washing his disciples’ feet, yes, including even Judas, who is about to betray him.

Jesus, pouring out himself in loving and lowly service.

And Jesus commands his friends – it’s the “mandate” that gives Maundy Thursday its name – Jesus commands us that if we wish to follow Jesus we must wash feet, too.

We must pour out our lives in loving and lowly service.

We must love one another as Jesus has loved us.

Pouring out lessons.

In a few minutes, we will gather at the Table with Jesus and with one another for the final time until Easter morning.

And at the conclusion of tonight’s service, we will clear away all of the holy objects.

“Stripping the altar” it’s called, preparing for the humiliation and suffering and death that Jesus will face tomorrow, on Good Friday.

And we will bring the Body and Blood of Christ to our beautiful little “Altar of Repose,” echoing Jesus’ night in the Garden of Gethsemane, a night of agonizing prayer and preparation.

By then, there really won’t be anything left to say, so we’ll depart in silence, prepared as best we can be for tomorrow, for the hardest day of the Church Year.

Tomorrow, Jesus will give away himself on the Cross: pouring out his blood, his love, his life, even his hope.

Poured out until nothing was left, nothing but emptiness.

Or so it will seem.

Because, even on the hard days,

Especially on the hardest days:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, poured out, in and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

Life and Love, Shared With Us

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 24, 2024

Year B: The Sunday of the Passion – Palm Sunday

Mark 11:1-11

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Mark 15:1-39

Life and Love, Shared With Us

Today is the most unsettling day of the Christian Year.

On this day, we begin with what’s usually called Jesus’ “triumphant” entry into Jerusalem.

At last, the long-awaited King has entered his capital city!

And at first glance, his entry does seem triumphant.

There are crowds along the way, laying their cloaks and their palms before the King.

They shout “Hosanna!” which means “Lord, save us!”

“Lord, save us!”

They shout “Hosanna!” because at least some of them think that, finally, God has sent a King like David, a military leader who will expel the Roman occupiers and restore Israel’s independence, renew its glory.

At first glance, the entry of King Jesus into Jerusalem does indeed seem triumphant.

But perhaps careful observers noticed that this might not be such a triumphant entry after all.

Where was the military escort?

Where were the dignitaries gathered to welcome the King, to pay him homage?

And why was this King riding a donkey?

I mean, every other new King – most every other new leader, even today – is all about gathering and accumulating – gathering supporters, followers, power –accumulating money, weapons, loyalty – gathering and accumulating as many and as much as possible to intimidate opponents and cement dominance.

But this King Jesus does just the opposite.

This King is just the opposite.

Oh, it’s true, he attracted some followers – an unimpressive group overall, and most will run away from him at the first sign of trouble.

No, as King Jesus enters his capital city, he’s not set on gathering and accumulating – he’s there to love and to serve, to give himself away.

Emptying himself.

It was just before Passover, so Jerusalem was teeming with pilgrims, its population probably swelled by around three times its normal size.

It was a festive time and it was also a tense time.

The Roman occupiers were on the lookout for any signs of protest or rebellion – any hint of trouble that they would swiftly crush with brutality and efficiency, with nails and wood.

And the Jewish leaders were desperate to keep the peace, to prevent anyone from sparking a devastating conflict with the Romans.

So, even without a military escort, and even with the donkey, powerful people were probably aware that some people were hailing a teacher and healer from Nazareth of all places as King of Israel.

And so, soon enough, the machinery of the state swung into action, sealing the fate of King Jesus.

The people, as always, wanted to back a winner and, well, Jesus must have looked like the biggest loser in town.

So the emptying of Jesus continued – no more palm-waving crowds, few if any followers or friends, expectation and excitement replaced by rejection and mockery.

And a final emptying on the Cross – the emptying of blood, and life, and even, it would seem, the emptying of hope.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Emptying himself.

On this unsettling day we remember an unsettling time in Jerusalem, two thousand years ago.

What began full of hope and promise – what began with palms and hosannas, ends with suffering, disappointment, and death.

Emptiness.

Or, so it seemed.

If Jesus is who we say he is, then back in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, God personally experienced rejection and pain and even death – emptiness.

But, at the same time, God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Sometimes – often - it feels like winter will last forever.

Like death gets the last word.

Like all hope is lost.

But it’s not true.

Spring arrives.

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Later, later, the first Christians saw this, they understood this – they even sang about Christ Jesus, this King who loved and served, who emptied himself – emptied himself on the Cross – this King who was gloriously replenished – exalted - by God on the third day.

But that’s for next week.

For now, we remain at the foot of the Cross.

And on this most unsettling day in our most unsettling world, we may be feeling quite empty.

But just wait.

Because:

God is never empty.

God is always full of life and love.

Life and love, shared with and through Jesus.

Life and love, shared with us.

In-Between Times

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 8, 2023

Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 130

1 Peter 4: 1-8

Matthew 27:57-66

In-Between Times

This morning, we take a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge the strange in-between time of Holy Saturday.

For the past week, many of us have been especially busy.

There have been lots of worship services, beginning with the palm parade and the reading of the Passion last Sunday.

On Thursday, we gathered around the table with Jesus the foot-washer and his disciples, gathered to remember some most important lessons.

Yesterday at noon, we faced the stark reality of Jesus’ death – the depth of his sacrifice – the hard fact that God came into the world in and through Jesus.

And human beings, not so different from us, killed him.

Meanwhile, in our lives both in and out of church, many of us have been busy getting ready for what we know is coming tomorrow – preparing for our joyful celebrations in church – and maybe preparing for time with family and friends.

But Holy Saturday – this morning’s simple and spare service – stops us for just a few minutes to prayerfully acknowledge this strange in-between time.

As I’ve reflected on Holy Saturday this year, I’m struck by the fact that the people in the gospel story seem unaware that they are living through an in-between time.

Oh, in today’s gospel lesson we’re told that some of the religious authorities remembered Jesus’ promise that he would rise again on the third day.

They remembered it, all right, but they certainly did not believe it, did not expect it. Instead, they’re concerned about the possibility of deception – so, it’s best to make the tomb extra secure.

But we’re given no hint that Jesus’ followers had any hope or expectation that the story of Jesus was going to continue.

As we’ll hear tomorrow and in the days ahead, the disciples will be quite surprised that Jesus kept his promise.

The disciples were totally unprepared for the new life of Easter. 

The disciples didn’t know it, but they were living through an in-between time, when Jesus the Son of God entered into the human experience in the most extreme way possible – enduring death.

Jesus really died.

As for us, we can try our best to stay in the moment, but we know that, as we speak, the Flower Guild is hard at work in church making everything beautiful for tomorrow.

We can try our best to stay in the moment but we know what’s coming. 

And that’s fine.

We’re not playing pretend here.

But, Holy Saturday is a reminder that we also live in an in-between time – a much longer in-between time, stretching from Easter to the last day.

Much like the first disciples, during our in-between time we grow frightened and we despair – and, sometimes, perhaps we think that God has abandoned us – that maybe suffering and death will get the last word.

Holy Saturday is an opportunity to simply acknowledge these in-between times for the disciples and for us – a time to reflect on the hard facts of Jesus’ suffering and death – and, most of all, a chance to ponder the bottomless depth of God’s love for us.

And so, for a few minutes, at least:

We pray.

And we wait.

Remembrance

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

April 6, 2023

Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Remembrance

You may have seen in the news recently that the Vatican has just formally disavowed what’s called the Doctrine of Discovery.

If you don’t know, the Doctrine of Discovery was an idea first promoted by several popes, beginning back in the 1400’s, giving some European countries pretty much a blank check to do whatever they liked with the land and people of Africa and the Americas. 

The Doctrine of Discovery led to the creation of the slave trade, the suffering and deaths of uncountable millions, the destruction of land, the theft of resources, racism, and more.

And the consequences of the Doctrine of Discovery live on today, punishing some, and benefiting others, depending…

So, admittedly, it’s a little late, but it’s good that the Church formally repudiated what was clearly an un-Christian and a deeply sinful idea and practice.

I mention all of this because the popes who blessed the Doctrine of Discovery and the men who executed it – they were all Christians – and yet, somehow, they were convinced that it was OK to do these horrible things – and not only that, they believed that God blessed these terrible deeds.

It seems that these Christians just didn’t get it, or forgot, or chose to ignore, what is at the heart of our faith.

Of course, this is a really old story, one going all the way back to the beginning.

In fact, a theme that runs through the gospels is that the disciples – that decidedly mixed bag of people chosen by Jesus to be his closest followers – the disciples very often just did not get it.

My favorite example of this is found in the Gospel of Mark.

Jesus predicts to his disciples that he is going to suffer, die, and rise again on the third day.

That should have been a lot for Jesus’ friends to take in, right?

Probably their most appropriate response would simply be to pray or at least keep a respectful silence.

But, instead, the brother disciples James and John use this as an opportunity to ask Jesus if, in the kingdom, they can sit at his right and at his left.

(In Matthew’s version of this story, it’s the mother of James and John who makes this request. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.)

We’re told that the other disciples overheard this request and they got angry at James and John – probably because they all wanted the best seats in the kingdom!

A remarkably patient Jesus uses this as a teachable moment, saying, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

In other words, the disciples were called to follow Jesus’ example.

Now, we are not told if the disciples grasped Jesus’ teaching on servant leadership, but, knowing their track record, and based on what we heard in today’s gospel lesson, I think we can probably guess.

Today is Maundy Thursday. It is a day for remembrance.

On Maundy Thursday, we especially remember the Last Supper.

Jesus and his disciples were in Jerusalem at the Passover, the great festival when Jews, then and now, remember God liberating them from Egyptian slavery.

At this particular Passover, Jerusalem was full of Jewish pilgrims from all over, and the mood in the occupied city was a combustible mix of hope and anxiety.

And what about the mood in the room where Jesus and his friends have gathered?

Well, even for the thickheaded disciples, maybe the hard truth was finally beginning to settle in: Jesus, their friend and Lord, was about to suffer and die.

Jesus certainly knew that time is running out.

And so the Master Teacher offered a couple of lessons – lessons that he must have hoped would be unforgettable.

Jesus blessed the bread and wine – told his friends that this was his body and blood – broken and poured out for them – and he told them to continue gathering around the table in memory of him. 

And then there was the second lesson.

The Evangelist John tells us that Jesus washed the feet of his disciples.

How shocking that must have been! 

Peter certainly wasn’t having it – at least, not at first.

Jesus commands his followers to follow his example and wash each other’s feet, to offer humble and loving service to one another.

Who knows, after getting their feet washed by the Lord, maybe James and John finally gave up their ambition for the best seats in the house!

Today is a day for remembrance.

The Church never forgot the Last Supper, of course.

We’ve continued gathering around the Table.

And we’ve never quite forgotten the foot-washing, either – it’s in the Bible, after all, and we retell the story every year on this day.

But I wonder if we have truly remembered Jesus’ humble act of loving service – I wonder if we’ve truly remembered the call to wash each other’s feet?

I mean, if we had truly remembered, how could we have come up with - and even blessed (!) - something like the Doctrine of Discovery and all the other awful things Christians have done and continue to do?

We are commanded – it’s the mandatum that gives Maundy Thursday its name – we are commanded to love one another as Jesus has loved us.

Instead of hurting others, we are meant to wash their feet.

Today is a day for remembrance.

Near the end of this evening’s service we will “strip the altar,” removing just about everything. 

And finally, we will bring the Body and Blood of Christ to our beautiful little Altar of Repose, symbolizing the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus wept and prayed on the night before his arrest, before all that was to come.

But, this evening, in our own time of hope and anxiety, before we move onto the rest of Holy Week and the great joy of Easter, let’s really try to get it.

With God’s help, let’s truly remember what Jesus the foot-washer teaches us, what Jesus commands us:

Love one another.