Trust Issues

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 13, 2023

Year A, Proper 14: The 11th Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b

Romans 10:5-15

Matthew 14:22-23

Trust Issues

It seems that each week brings terrifying and troubling reminders of the big and challenging problems that we face as a people.

We’ve had catastrophes caused, probably in large part, by climate change: the fiery and deadly destruction on beautiful Maui and the increasingly powerful storms that keep rolling though our area, including the one the other day that knocked down all those utility poles in Westminster, leaving drivers trapped in their cars for hours and cutting off power for days.

Here at St. Thomas’, we’re still dealing with, and will be dealing with for a long time, the aftermath of the storm from a couple of weeks ago that brought down an old tree into a churchyard, doing terrible damage to some of our oldest monuments.

In our public life, the government isn’t really doing much governing. Instead, we’re consumed with partisan bickering and countless accusations and investigations – of which there is no end in sight.

And, everyone I know looks ahead to next year’s presidential election with dread.

A lot of ink gets spilled trying to figure out why we’re in such a mess.

And I’m certainly not the first to say that the fundamental problem is a break down in trust.

Yes, we have big time trust issues.

Sometimes with good reason and sometimes not, we don’t trust many – most – of our leaders and institutions – we don’t trust scientists, journalists, politicians, and even teachers, and, yes, the clergy.

We also don’t trust each other – sometimes for good reason but often because we just don’t know each other in the way that people in the past knew each other.

This is one reason why church – why this church - is so important.

This is one of the few remaining places where people from different walks of life and with different viewpoints can come together and get to know each other and do good together and love each other – to be different and diverse, sure, but also to be one in everything that really matters.

But even we have our trust issues, right?

Since we don’t know each other as well as we might or should, we may not totally trust one another.

  And, worst of all, we may not really trust God, especially when life gets difficult.

If we’re being totally honest with ourselves, we might admit that often we are what are sometimes called “functional atheists” – we say we believe in God but we don’t really trust God. Instead, we believe that ultimate responsibility rests on us.

We have trust issues.

Among all of Jesus’ disciples, we know the most about Peter the fisherman. 

Jesus says that Peter is “the rock” upon whom he will build his church.

But we know that this “rock” was often not so solid.

Like us, Peter is a mixed bag – sometimes faithful and courageous, – and other times doubtful and frightened.

And in today’s gospel lesson, we see Peter’s mixed bag nature on full display, don’t we?

The setting is right after one of Jesus’ greatest miracles - the Feeding of the Multitudes – when Jesus took a woefully insufficient amount of bread and fish and transformed it into a meal of overflowing abundance – enough food to feed the huge crowd, with plenty of leftovers.

After that big and miraculous meal, we’re told that Jesus made the disciples get into a boat and “go on ahead to the other side” while Jesus dismissed the well-fed crowd, which I bet wasn’t so easy.

I know I’d want to stick around for more of that free delicious miracle food!

But after the disciples survive a stormy night at sea, we’re told that Jesus walks on the water toward the probably exhausted and definitely terrified disciples, who reasonably conclude that they are seeing ghost.

Jesus tries to reassure his friends.

“Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid,” he says.

Our friend Peter is not totally convinced, not totally trusting. He says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

Which is a strange request, right?

It sounds a little like Peter is saying I want to be God, too.

But, to his credit, Peter, does trust. He steps out in faith, steps out of the boat, and manages to take a few miraculous steps on the water. But the wind kicks up and his trust – in himself and in Jesus - quickly falters. And when he begins to sink he cries out to the Lord to save him, which Jesus does without delay.

Like all of us imperfect people, Peter had trust issues.

But, as Peter learned that day as he was sinking, the very good news is that God will not let go of us, no matter our trust issues, no matter what.

Over the past couple of years, you’ve heard me mention the fact that I was a teacher before I went to seminary and was ordained a priest.

In fact, I mentioned that in last week’s sermon, when I said that I had been out of the classroom for about twenty years.

That’s almost entirely true, but it glosses over that about eight years ago, I made a very brief return to teaching.

A little background:

I had always missed teaching – missed spending my days surrounded by other people – missed having colleagues who, in many cases, were also good friends.

Also, clergy are expensive – worth every penny, of course! – but expensive, and that bothered me.

So, when I heard that my alma mater – the school I later taught at and left to go to seminary – was looking for a Religion teacher, I thought that this was the answer to my prayers.

I could get back to teaching, but teaching religion, so that would align with my priestly vocation.

At the same time, I would continue at my church, but only part-time, which would ease financial pressure for the church while also giving me a little security.

Others had doubts, but I convinced myself that I could do my job at the same level in half the time.

If this is sounding like functional atheism, you’re right!

At first, it was great to be back at school, to see old friends, to prepare my classes.

But then classes actually started and I discovered that I was really rusty and that education had changed a whole lot since I was gone, now much more reliant on technology.

If I could’ve brought Sue to school with me for tech support, maybe I could’ve pulled it off.

And then, I came home from school and had to do my church work. Maybe if I were twenty years younger, I could have done both jobs, but not now.

It only took a couple of days for me to realize that I had made a terrible mistake and was sinking fast – and so I asked to speak to the school’s principal, who, by the way, happened to have been a classmate and one of my closest friends.

I told him that I just couldn’t do it and apologized for making his life much more difficult.

And, I talked to the leaders of the church and asked if, uh, maybe we could go back to the way things had been before – like a week ago - and they very graciously and, I think, happily obliged.

Since I’m standing up here telling you all this, I guess I’m pretty much over it. But, at the time, and for years after, I was so embarrassed that I had misjudged things so badly and created such a mess.

As I’ve reflected on that painful experience, I’ve come to see that when I stepped out in faith, it was mostly misplaced faith in myself – somehow I thought that I could do two full-time jobs – rather than faith, or trust, in God.

I had grown so fearful about the future – about my future - that I no longer trusted that God would not let go of me, no matter what.

But God did not let go of me and, with God’s help, in the following years we were able to do some wonderful work in Jersey City.

And my good friend the principal and I are still good friends.

And eventually, God invited me to a seemingly unlikely place, a place I might never had encountered unless, I don’t know, my father and I made a wrong turn on our way to Camden Yards.

So, Peter and I have learned some important lessons.

No matter our many real and challenging problems, no matter how mixed up we are, no matter if it feels like we are sinking, God is trustworthy.

No matter our trust issues, God is trustworthy.

And our trustworthy God will never let go of us, no matter what.

Amen.

Glimpses of Mutual Joy

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 6, 2023

The Feast of the Transfiguration

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Peter 1:13-21

Luke 9:28-36

Glimpses of Mutual Joy

Today is the first Sunday of August, which of course means that in a little while we’ll offer birthday and anniversary blessings – including an anniversary blessing for Barritt and Gay Peterson who celebrate their 40th anniversary today!

The start of August also marks the beginning of a seasonal shift – we felt it last week after strong storms ushered in thankfully somewhat cooler and less humid weather.

And we’re starting to see a slightly different slant to the sunlight and, sadly, the days are beginning to get noticeably shorter.

This seasonal change is bittersweet, of course.

The teachers and students in the room may have decidedly mixed emotions – sadness about summer winding down, anxiety about a new school year, but also excitement about reuniting with friends, classmates, and colleagues – another chance to teach, to learn, and to grow.

It’s been twenty years since I was a teacher but I still feel echoes of those feelings. I even have a recurring dream in which, panicking, I suddenly realize that I haven’t gathered any grades - that it’s been a really long time since I’ve given my kids a quiz or a test! How could I have forgotten something so important? What am I going to do?

And then I wake with a start and remember that was all long ago.

But I still have that bittersweet feeling – sadness about summer slowly drawing to a close but also excitement about the fall – and, this year, special excitement about everything that’s coming up here at St. Thomas’, starting with the completion of the beautiful new roof and our return to church.

In at least one respect, this upcoming fall is going to be different from any I’ve ever experienced as a priest.

We have a lot of weddings coming up in September, October, and November.

I’ve certainly never had so many weddings in such a short time – for the first time it’s forced me to take detailed notes when I’ve met with each couple so I can keep everybody clear in my mind.

And especially these days when fewer people get married in church, and the ceremony is often officiated by a friend or family member who was “ordained” online (no judgment from me but the “priest union” is firmly opposed to this practice!), it’s rather extraordinary that all these couples want to be married here – to have their unions blessed by God in this holy place, witnessed by family and friends.

Probably like most clergy, I guess, I have a couple of basic wedding sermons that I adapt to the situation, trying to make it as personal as possible (that’s why I need the notes).

And in one of my wedding sermons I reflect on the expression “mutual joy.”

If you’re familiar with the Episcopal marriage service, you may remember that near the start, the officiant reminds everyone of the purposes of marriage – “for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord.”

But, before and above any of that, the Prayer Book declares that the very first purpose of marriage is “mutual joy.”

So, often in my wedding sermon, I’ll point that out – the most important purpose of marriage is mutual joy.

But mutual joy is not just for married people.

No, it’s been God’s great desire from the start that all of us – whether we’re single, married, widowed or divorced – all of us are meant live lives of mutual joy.

This is something we often forget, of course.

And so, every once in a while, God offers us a reminder of the way things we’re always meant to be – glimpses of mutual joy - mountaintop experiences like when a couple exchange some big promises, as Barritt and Gay did forty years ago, as couples will be doing throughout the fall here at St. Thomas’.

Glimpses of mutual joy.

In addition to the first Sunday of August, today is also the Feast of the Transfiguration, the day we remember an extraordinary mountaintop experience – a preview of Easter - a glimpse of mutual joy.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we’re told that Jesus and his disciples Peter, James, and John go up the mountain to pray.

Suddenly, Jesus’ appearance is transformed, his clothes now dazzling white.

Jesus is then joined by Moses and Elijah, those two towering figures of Israel’s past.

Luke tells us the topic of their conversation –they discuss Jesus’ upcoming “departure” – actually, Luke uses the more resonant word “exodus” – linking what Jesus is about to accomplish in Jerusalem to the Passover and the liberation of the Israelites from slavery.

That’s already quite a lot for one mountaintop experience – so powerful and moving that Peter, reasonably but wrongly, wants to hold on to it for as long as he can, offering to build shelters for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. 

But, Peter can barely get those words out before an overshadowing cloud appears and the disciples are understandably terrified. 

But the voice from heaven simply says, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

And then, as suddenly as this mountaintop experience began, it was over – the voice from heaven was silent and Moses and Elijah were gone.

Now it was time for Jesus and his disciples to come down the mountain and begin the journey to Jerusalem and all the disappointment and suffering and sorrow – and, finally, the Easter joy – that awaited them there.

But, no matter what lay ahead, Jesus and his friends would not forget this mountaintop experience – this preview of Easter – this taste of heaven – this glimpse of mutual joy.

One of the great privileges of my job is to meet with couples to help them prepare for their wedding and, much more important, for married life ahead.

It’s always touching to hear how they met and what they love about each other and why they’ve decided to make this big commitment.

The wedding day is surely a mountaintop experience for the couple and for those who love them, but just like for Jesus and the disciples, eventually they – we – must come down the mountain and face the challenges and difficulties of everyday life.

It’s why one of the most important moments of the wedding service is when all of us in the congregation pledge our support to the couple, pledge our support especially during the inevitable hard times that they, like all of us, will have to face.

It seems to me that our great challenge is to remember – to remember that all of us – no matter our marital status – all of us are meant for mutual joy.

And we experience mutual joy when we obey the command that God spoke from the cloud and listen to Jesus.

We experience mutual joy when, with God’s help, we try our best to love everybody, even the people we’re not too crazy about, even our enemies.

We experience mutual joy when, with God’s help, we give generously, giving of ourselves, giving away as much as we can.

We experience mutual joy when, with God’s help, we ask forgiveness when we’ve messed up – and when we offer forgiveness when we’ve been wronged.

And, no matter the season, we experience mutual joy when, with God’s help, we remember – remember the days of big promises and great joy – when we remember those mountaintop experiences when we’ve gotten a glimpse of what life is all about: mutual joy.

Amen.

The Enormous Importance of Seemingly Small Things

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 30, 2023

Year A, Proper 12: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 29:15-28

Psalm 105:1-11, 45b

Romans 8:26-39

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

The Enormous Importance of Seemingly Small Things

Well, in case you’re wondering, I had a pretty good week of vacation.

After officiating at a joyful wedding in Pennsylvania last weekend – the bride was one of my first Confirmation students – the goal for the week was to get some rest, and also to explore Baltimore a little bit more.

I did some of my usual things – like taking early morning walks on the NCR Trail – where one day a man rode by me on his bike wearing a “Jersey City” t-shirt!

He whizzed past me before I could say, “Hey! I’m from Jersey City, too!”

But, you should know that there are more of us.

Sue and I made our first visit to the Baltimore Museum of Industry – a very cool and interesting place – where, among many other things, there’s a little exhibit about the Sweetheart Cup Company, which manufactured its products just down the street from us, on Reisterstown Road, right where Panera and Wegmans are today.

And we also went to Whitehall Mill where the Baltimore author Laura Lippman launched her new novel called, Prom Mom.

It was great to be with over 100 other book lovers – a nice reminder that Baltimore is a literary town – the “City that Reads,” as the old slogan says.

At the event, Lippman talked about the origin of this particular book and then answered questions from the audience about all sorts of things – but she didn’t touch on a hard topic that she talked about in a recent interview she gave to the Baltimore Banner. 

Talking about the perceptions of Baltimore shaped by shows like The Wire, Lippman said, “What you need to know is that it’s hard to live in Baltimore if you’re poor and Black. Me, I’m OK.”

“What you need to know is that it’s hard to live in Baltimore if you’re poor and Black. Me, I’m OK.”

As I’m sure you know, last week a jury convicted a teenage Black boy of voluntary manslaughter in the killing of a white man, Timothy Reynolds – which took place last summer, downtown at East Conway and Light Streets, after the baseball bat-wielding Reynolds angrily approached a group of squeegee workers.

One of them pulled on a ski mask, grabbed a gun out of a bag and shot and killed Reynolds.

Being new to Baltimore, I’ve been reluctant to say much about its troubles – I don’t want to be that guy who’s been here ten minutes and thinks he’s got everything figured out.

I never quite figured out Jersey City so I definitely don’t have Baltimore figured out.

And I’m certainly not competent enough to judge the merits of this particular case, although, frankly, I do wonder about charging a 14 year-old boy as an adult.

And, not having served on the jury, I don’t want to second-guess their judgment.

But, like a lot of people, I’ve been thinking a lot about this horrible tragedy – a tragedy for Timothy Reynolds and those who loved him – a tragedy for the boy and those who love him – yet another tragedy for Baltimore and for our gun-crazy and blood-soaked land.

And what I keep thinking about is all the seemingly small things that must have led to that tragic day in downtown Baltimore.

I’ve been thinking about the seemingly small but irritating and finally infuriating things that must have built up in Timothy Reynolds, creating so much pressure and anger that finally that day he got out of his vehicle, carrying a bat across a busy city street to confront those guys, risking and losing his life – for what?

And I’ve been thinking about all the seemingly small things that might have kept that boy from working that corner. 

Just a small opportunity to do something better and more productive, a more legitimate and less dangerous summer job to make a little money for himself without washing the windshields of usually unwilling and often frightened and angry drivers - just someone willing to serve as a mentor for him - just some safe and fun recreation like our St. Thomas’ kids get to enjoy – all seemingly small things that might have made all the difference for a boy in a city where, as Laura Lippman said, it is hard to be poor and Black.

The enormous importance of seemingly small things.

This is one of Jesus’ greatest and wisest and hardest teachings: seemingly small things are enormously important, both for ill and for good.

What could be smaller than a thought or a feeling and yet Jesus says that looking at someone with lust is as bad as committing adultery.

Jesus says that simply hating a brother or sister makes us liable to judgment.

Jesus teaches that these seemingly small things of the heart are enormously important – because it is a very short trip from our heart to our actions.

But, as we heard in today’s first two parables, the Kingdom of God also begins seemingly small – the size of a mustard seed or a little yeast – but, with the right nurturing, that small start can grow into overflowing abundance and goodness, providing shelter and food for many.

The enormous importance of seemingly small things.

These days, our problems and challenges sure seem overwhelming.

Blood continues to be shed in Baltimore and all across our land.

The extreme heat over much of the Northern Hemisphere is alarming, causing so much suffering and destruction, doing damage right here, where the violent storm on Friday night broke a big old tree in half, smashing some old and precious monuments in our churchyard.

I don’t have solutions to these big problems and challenges.

But I am encouraged, heartened, inspired by the seemingly small but enormously important seeds being planted here at St. Thomas’: 

Our partnerships with people doing good and essential work on the ground at Paul’s Place, the Community Crisis Center and Owings Mills Elementary School.

  The wonderful return of the Paul’s Place Camp.

The renewal of our pollinator garden and the thoughtful care of all of our property.

The growing diversity of our parish – giving us the opportunity to show the world – or Owings Mills, at least – that it is indeed possible for people of many different backgrounds and with lots of different points of view to pray and worship and serve together – to love one another.

So, let us not lose heart.

And, let’s always remember the enormous importance of seemingly small things.

Amen.

With God, It's Always Planting Season

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 16, 2023

Year A, Proper 10: The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 25:19-34

Psalm 119:105-112

Romans 8:1-11

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

With God, It’s Always Planting Season 

In previous sermons, I’ve already established that Sue and I are not great gardeners.

But, since we have the privilege of living in our beautiful rectory, surrounded by what feels like our own personal park, we’ve been trying our best.

And, you know, we want to have the full Greenspring Valley experience!

So, back in the spring, Sue did some planting around the house, including in the two large flowerpots that guard the walkway to the front door.

And, during the long weeks when we had very little rain, it was my job each morning to fill up the watering can and make my way around, giving all of our flowering plants a drink.

I’ll admit that I was kind of proud of how well they were all doing, especially the colorful petunias in those two pots – they really looked nice.

A couple of weeks ago, Sue and I were away for a few days, visiting wonderful friends of ours in Asheville, NC. It was a great trip and Asheville is a really nice town, but it was also good to get back home.

When we arrived back at the house, we were mostly focused on our three cats – seeing how they got along without us – checking to see if they were holding a grudge for leaving them.

The cats were just fine but not long after getting home, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe what I saw: there was no sign of the colorful flowers in the two pots.

I went outside for a closer look and I still couldn’t believe it. It was even worse than what happened to our pollinator garden last year. Not only had the deer (I assume it was the deer) eaten the petunias, there was no evidence that the flowers had ever even been there – there was just nothing left.

So, you know, I gained grudging respect for our deer neighbors. Somehow they knew we were gone, saw their opportunity, and ate everything in sight – leaving behind what sure looked like barren soil.

And, never having been super-committed to gardening, Sue and I haven’t found the energy or time to start over and plant again.

For us, planting season is over.

But, fortunately, God is much more patient and persistent.

No matter the bad soil, no matter the risks, no matter the slim chances for success, with God, it’s always planting season. 

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Matthew, we heard one of Jesus’ best-known parables: the Parable of the Sower.

Most scholars think that this parable was offered in response to a question faced by Jesus, by Matthew and his community, and by Christians down through the ages, including us here at St. Thomas’:

Why does the Good News take root and flourish in some people, while in many others not so much?

For us here at St. Thomas’, we are blessed with so many of you who have remained faithful in good times and especially in not so good days – blessed by you who have continued to come here even when our beautiful church is closed during roof replacement and we are forced to worship in the Parish Hall – which is perfectly nice but, let’s admit it, just not the same.

But there are others who used to be vital members of this community and have fallen away and have stayed away – and also others who came a couple of times and seemed really happy and excited, only to vanish, never to be seen again.

I confess that earlier in my priesthood, this used to bother me a lot. It still saddens and disappoints me when people don’t stick with us, who don’t find what they need here, but I’ve come to accept that God is the sower, not you and me.

Our job is, with God’s help, to cultivate the soil as best we can – cultivate the soil by welcoming everybody, cultivate the soil by offering our best in worship, cultivate the soil by being good stewards of our buildings and grounds, cultivate the soil by being who we say we are – by really being a church in service to the community, like how we just welcomed the Paul’s Place campers and counselors for a great week – cultivating the soil by providing opportunities for people to learn and grow, by studying the Bible and prayer and our faith.

God is the sower and we are the cultivators.

And God just does not give up.

And no matter how messed up we may be, no matter how messed up our families may be, with God, it’s always planting season.

For example…there is Israel’s founding family – Abraham and Sarah and their descendants.

For the past few weeks we’ve been hearing stories about this remarkable family – how Abraham answered God’s call to leave home and journey to an unknown land – how God blessed old Abraham and old Sarah with Isaac – but there have been other, less an inspiring stories – how Sarah was jealous of Hagar and her son with Abraham, Ishmael - so jealous that Sarah convinces Abraham to send them away with hardly enough supplies to sustain them.

Messed up.

And then there is today’s tale of sibling rivalry between the twins Esau and Jacob – a rivalry that began at birth, as Jacob held onto Esau’s foot as they both entered the world – trying for that lead position and all of its privileges.

As we heard today, it took a while, but Jacob finally got what he wanted – convincing a famished Esau to sell his birthright…for bread and a bowl of lentil stew.

And you thought your family was messed up!

But, with God, it’s always planting season.

And so, God doesn’t give up on the family of Abraham and Sarah, no matter their faithlessness and cruelty, no matter their oddness and mistakes, God continues to plant seeds in and among them.

And the same is true for us.

We are a church of imperfect people and yet God has been busy here, planting seeds no matter the season.

Sometimes those seeds don’t take root, at least not yet – the programs that don’t seem to work – the events that are not well attended – the people who come here and don’t find what they’re looking for.

But, sometimes – often - the seeds do take root – we welcome and nurture Afghan refugees, more and more of us study the Bible with new excitement, and new parishioners find their way here, overcoming fear and uncertainty, and begin to put down new roots in this old place.

So, about our rectory garden.

After the setback we endured while on vacation, I resumed my morning practice of watering what was left, hoping that we could cultivate a little more beauty, and that the deer would go back to keeping a respectful distance.

Nothing much seemed to be happening, but then, the other day, I noticed a little spot of color in the driveway.

I took a closer look and saw that it was a little petunia just like the ones that had been devastated by the deer.

Somehow a seed or two had dropped into a tiny asphalt crack and in that seemingly inhospitable place, it had taken root and bloomed. 

I know that we could attempt a transplant but I think I’m going to leave that little flower right where it is – a little sign that, no matter how low the odds of success, no matter how poor the soil, God just does not give up.

With God, it’s always planting season.

Amen. 

Yoked, Together

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 8, 2023

Year A, Proper 9: The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67

Psalm 45:11-18

Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Yoked, Together

As you know, I preach just about every week, which means I almost always have a deadline looming – ready or not, and hopefully with God’s help, I have to come up with something to say.

And, that tight schedule means there is often not much time to look back and reflect on the past – especially at a church as busy – I mean, as active – as St. Thomas’. 

Usually, I just turn the page from one Sunday to the next and get moving.

But, this week, maybe because of the slightly slower summer pace around here, I’ve been thinking back over the past couple of Sundays.

I’ve been looking back to the Sunday of Bishop Ihloff’s visitation when ten of our parishioners – some young and some, well, not so young – some who’ve been parishioners here for many years and others who’ve only been here for a few months – some who are “cradle Episcopalians” and some who are brand new to our branch of the Jesus Movement – ten of our parishioners kneeled or stood before the Bishop and reaffirmed that they really want to be part of this – they confirmed that they want to follow Jesus, here, together with all of us, with God’s help.

It was such a great day – the only thing better would’ve been if we had a Baptism – but maybe that would’ve been over the top, just too much.

But since Confirmation is closely related to Baptism, we all reaffirmed our Baptismal Covenant – promising to resist evil, to proclaim the Good News by word and example, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to strive for justice and peace among all people – big and super-ambitious promises – promises that we can only hope to fulfill with God’s help.

What a service that was – a top ten Sunday, I’d say.

And then there was last week… when we heard the challenging, problematic, and downright disturbing story of the “Binding of Isaac.”

If you were here, I’m sure you’ll remember the story – Abraham hears God call him to sacrifice his son Isaac – Abraham and Sarah’s miracle child.

When Abraham brings Isaac to the place of sacrifice, poor Isaac looks around and sees everything is ready to go but, uh, there’s just one thing. 

Isaac says, “The fire and wood are here, but where is the lamb for the offering?”

Isaac hasn’t caught on that he is the sacrifice – and why would that horrible idea ever occur to him, right?

Isaac knew that Abraham loved him – and he knew that God loved him, too.

At the last moment, Abraham hears an angel of the Lord command him to cancel the sacrifice of his son – and a ram is conveniently provided and substituted for Isaac, who lives on, and, as we heard today, eventually marries Rebekah.

After church last week and actually during the week, too, I heard from some of you who were disturbed by the Binding of Isaac – and it certainly bothers me, too.

God asking Abraham to make such a monstrous sacrifice just does not sound like the God of love.

And, as I’ve continued to reflect on the story, I’ve been struck by the fact that Abraham goes it alone. He does not tell anyone – certainly not Sarah and Isaac – he doesn’t tell anyone what he’s hearing – or thinks he’s hearing - from God.

And, although this particular story has a happy ending – the truth is that, even when we have the best of intentions, we often make our biggest mistakes – we often get ourselves into the worst trouble – we often simply fail – we often do the wrong thing - when we go it alone.

I know this. You know this. 

We know this from hard experience.

And St. Paul knew it, too.

I love today’s lesson from Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Paul writes, “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

  That’s such an accurate description of the human experience – the human condition.

Paul’s near-contemporary, the Roman poet Ovid, recognized the same dynamic. He wrote,

“I perceive what is better and approve of it, but I pursue what is worse.”

I don’t know if Ovid ever discovered a solution to this predicament, but Paul  certainly did.

At the end of today’s lesson, Paul writes, “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Paul recognized that, no matter our good intentions, no matter our determination to obey the rules, no matter our talents, if we go it alone we are likely to mess up and fail.

But, when we follow Jesus, when we submit to Jesus, then we are able to live abundant lives of love and service.

In today’s gospel lesson Jesus issues a call that is familiar to many of us – a call that is true for us. Jesus says:

“Come to me, all you that weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

So many of us are so weary – burned out - from carrying heavy burdens – and, in large part, that weariness and heaviness comes from trying to go it alone.

To us who are just plain worn out from our worries and troubles, Jesus says, take my yoke.

And we don’t take and wear this yoke alone – but we are meant to wear the yoke of Christ together.

Actually, the truth is even better than that – Jesus himself wears the yoke with us and for us.

Jesus walks the road beside us – making the seemingly impossible possible right here at St. Thomas’ – making it possible for us to love our neighbor as our self – to seek and serve Christ in one another, even the people we don’t trust – to respect the dignity of every human being, even the people we don’t like one bit.

And so, while Abraham certainly offers us a powerful example of trusting God, no matter what, he also provides a model of what not to do.

The call to sacrifice his son Isaac was too heavy a burden to carry alone. It would have been wiser to share this with Sarah and with others – and, who knows, maybe, together, they would have heard God more clearly.

Our ten parishioners modeled a much better way, right here, just a few weeks ago.

During our Confirmation and Reaffirmation service they took on the yoke of Christ together, with all the rest of us in this holy herd cheering them on, promising to support them, pledging to support one another - with God’s help, always and only with God’s help.

So, before we rush on to the next thing, before I have to come up with next week’s sermon - let’s remember – let’s celebrate – that we are yoked, together.

We are yoked, together, with Christ.

Amen. 

Trust

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 2, 2023

Year A, Proper 8: The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 22:1-14

Psalm 13

Romans 6:12-23

Matthew 10:40-42

Trust

One of the quirky things I’ve noticed about Baltimore is that people are very interested in knowing what high school you attended.

I don’t know, I guess that’s true in lots of places. After all, it’s during those intense and often quite challenging high school years that we mature into adulthood – or something close to adulthood, anyway.

For many of us, it’s during those high school years that we become the people who we are.

I’ve mentioned to you before before that I spent my high school years at St. Peter’s Prep, an all-boys Roman Catholic school run by the Jesuits, the same religious order that operates Loyola Blakefield and Loyola University here in Baltimore and many other schools across the U.S. and around the world.

Growing up, it was always assumed that I would go to “Prep,” as we called it – so it was a good thing that I was admitted and, in most respects, thrived there.

I admit that math was always a perennial problem.

Prep’s most important gift to me was the opportunity to learn about, and think critically about, my faith – to reflect on how Christianity might shape my life, both as a teenager and in the years ahead.

At the heart of that religious formation was a retreat program called “Emmaus,” named after the story in the Gospel of Luke of the Risen Jesus appearing to the two disciples on the road. 

When we were juniors, we were all invited – not required - to make one of these Emmaus retreats that took place over a weekend in a wonderfully rambling old Victorian house at the Jersey Shore.

There were about twenty of us at a time, along with a few adults and some seniors who served as the retreat “team.”

At the start of my retreat, I remember being excited and nervous – glad to be spending the weekend with some of my best friends – but also wary because I was with other classmates who I didn’t know very well.

I had heard enough about the retreats to know that I would be invited to share something of myself on this weekend, and, well, like most teenage boys, I suppose, that made me uncomfortable.

Frankly, I wasn’t sure I could trust all of these guys.

The people leading the retreat knew all of that, of course, and so pretty much the first thing we did together was a literal trust exercise.

We all gathered in the big living room where we were randomly paired off. We were then asked to fall back into the arms of our partner, trusting that this kid would not drop us – would not let us fall onto the hardwood floor.

For some, this was no problem – they just threw out their arms, tilted back, and let themselves go.

But, for others, it was really hard – they would begin to lean back but would catch themselves, unwilling or unable to trust. It took several tries and lots of encouragement before they could take the plunge.

Eventually, all of us managed to do it – with lots of laughter and clapping – setting the tone of the weekend, when we would be asked to trust one another – and, in a way we might not have realized at the time – we would be asked to trust God.

It was a holy trust exercise.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard one of the most famous – and also most problematic – of all Bible stories – what’s usually called “the Binding of Isaac” - a trust exercise far more demanding and costly than falling backwards into the arms of a high school classmate.

Here in church over the past couple of weeks, we’ve been hearing the story of Abraham and Sarah – the patriarch and matriarch of Israel – how God had called them to leave behind just about everyone and everything familiar and journey to a new land.

God promised that old Abraham and old Sarah would have descendants more numerous than the stars – a promise so absurd that Sarah just had to laugh.

And yet, here was Isaac – their beloved son – God’s ridiculous promise fulfilled – the child who was the future - for Abraham and Sarah and their people.

But now, Abraham hears God calling him to trust God in an even more profound and troubling way – God calls Abraham to sacrifice his greatest treasure – to sacrifice his son Isaac – trusting that God knows what God is doing – trusting that, somehow, God is not going to let go of Abraham and Isaac even when all hope seems to be lost – trusting that God is not going to let go of any of us, no matter what.

  The Binding of Isaac is a difficult and deeply troubling story.

If we didn’t know better, we would think that God is sadistic.

It’s heartbreaking when poor Isaac asks, “where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” – not realizing – never expecting – that he was to be that burnt offering!

And notice that Abraham doesn’t tell anyone what he’s going to do – not Sarah, not Isaac, not the servants – probably because Abraham knows that it wouldn’t take much to talk him out of sacrificing his precious son  – it wouldn’t take much convincing to keep him from taking this fearful plunge – it wouldn’t take much for him to not trust God.

But, Abraham remains steadfast, trusting that God is trustworthy, and so he once again steps into the terrifying unknown.

If, by some chance, this is the first time you’ve ever heard about God, the Binding of Isaac is a really horrible introduction - and I really wish that you had chosen a different Sunday for your first visit.

But, of course, this is not Abraham’s introduction to God – and it’s not our introduction to God, either.

The theologian Ellen F. Davis has strongly influenced my thinking about the Binding of Isaac. She argues that this story is meant for us who have gotten to know and love God - and yet we know that terrible things still happen to us and to those we love.

She writes, “…this harrowing story exists to help people who already believe make sense of their most difficult experience, when God seems to take back everything they have ever received at God’s hand.”

No matter what high school we attended, all of us face awful challenges and heartbreaking losses.

We endure disappointments, betrayals, estrangements, and grief.

We fear the future – as political differences and cynical politicians divide us into bitter enemies.

We fear the future - as the sky grows smoky once again.

We fear the future – as our land is plagued by gun violence, including the mass shooting just last night in South Baltimore, where 30 people were shot, and two people were killed.

But, like Abraham we know God.

Actually, we know God even better than Abraham because we know Jesus.

We know that even when the worst thing happens – when we reject God and nail him to a tree – God still does not give up on us – will never let go of us, no matter what.

And so, we can trust God.

At the end of our Emmaus retreat, each of us received a small wooden cross.

Back at school, we would wear our cross as a sign that we had made the retreat and maybe as a way of holding onto the powerful experience of faith for a little while longer.

Although I haven’t worn my cross since high school, I’ve managed to keep it with me for nearly forty years now, during all my ups and downs.

Nowadays, I keep it in a little bowl on the coffee table in my office.

It reminds me of those long ago days – of that time when I fell backwards into the arms of a classmate – of the first time I plunged into the arms of God – the God who is trustworthy – the God who has not let go of me – the God who does not let go of any of us, no matter what. 

Amen.

Drawing the Circle Wider

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 11, 2023

Year A, Proper 5: The Second Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 12:1-9

Psalm 33:1-12

Romans 4:13-25

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

Drawing the Circle Wider

If you were here last week, you may remember that it was Trinity Sunday – the day when we are invited to reflect on, and celebrate, God’s inner life.

Our God is One in Three Persons – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier – bound together by love. 

God is Community.

God is a Community of Love.

And, as I said last week, I assume that our God who is a Community of Love could have just gone it alone for all eternity, perfectly complete and fulfilled.

But, on the other hand, by its very nature, love needs to be shared, right?

And so, in a way, maybe it was inevitable, even necessary, that God would widen the holy circle by creating all that is – inviting all of us to be part of the holy community of love.

Over the past week, as I’ve continued to reflect on the Trinity and how God widens the holy circle, and as I’ve sat with today’s lessons, I’ve been thinking about how God is a risk-taker.

It would have been much easier and safer – there would have been no divine headaches and heartbreak – if God had simply continued to go it alone.

But, once God creates a physical universe – once God creates all that is – once God creates us – God creates the very likely – really inevitable – possibility that things will go wrong.

God creates the likelihood that we will reject the divine invitation.

But, God still takes the risk.

And, not only that, but God invites us to take the risk of widening the circle of love, too.

We heard some risk-taking in today’s lessons.

In the Old Testament, God calls Abram to leave home – to abandon just about everybody and everything he has ever known – God calls old Abram and childless Sarai and their nephew Lot – God calls them to leave home and journey to an unknown land.

God promises that somehow Abram and Sarai (who will be renamed Abraham and Sarah), with no offspring of their own and seemingly way too old for new life – God promises to make of them a great nation.

And, not only that, God promises that in them “all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”

Scripture makes it clear that Abram and Sarai were nobody special – none of their family or friends would have expected that God would choose them for such a monumental task.

But, God takes a risk and chooses a couple with seemingly more days behind than ahead to plant the seed of a people who would carry the news of God into the world – to widen the holy circle in a history-shattering way.

And, obviously, Abram and Sarai take a big risk, too.

Leaving home – especially at an advanced age – in no small thing. 

And yet, they take that risk, they place their trust in God, and, step by step, they widen the circle.

And in today’s gospel lesson we heard some serious risk-taking and circle-widening, too.

One of things I try to keep in mind when reading the gospels is that they are set in a very difficult time for the people of Israel.

God’s people lived under Roman occupation, governed by local puppets who served at Rome’s pleasure.

The time of Jesus was tense with simmering resentment and ever-present fear, and the persistent hope that the God of liberation would act as God had acted in the past and free God’s people.

As in every occupation, there were local people who collaborated with the occupiers, whether to save their own skin or to profit off of the misery of others – or maybe both.

And in first century Israel, the tax collectors were probably the most despised of the collaborators.

They were Jews who worked for the hated oppressors. They were widely seen as corrupt, lining their own pockets by overcharging their own people.

So, it is no small risk when Jesus approaches Matthew the tax collector and says, “Follow me.”

And it is no small risk when Matthew leaves his tax booth and goes off to follow Jesus.

And it is no small risk when Jesus dines with Matthew and his tax collector and sinful friends.

The Pharisees flip out – what is Jesus doing, breaking bread with these horrible people – the worst of the worst? By hanging out with these rightfully outcast people, Jesus jeopardizes his own credibility – he risks becoming an outcast, too. 

But, nevertheless, Jesus takes the risk of widening the holy circle – inviting even the people who are hardest to love into the community of love.

And the two people who ask Jesus for help, they’re risk takers, too.

The leader of the synagogue kneels before Jesus – his daughter has just died – in fact, back home the funeral is already underway – he kneels before Jesus absolutely confident that Jesus can bring new life out of death.

And the poor woman who has been bleeding for twelve long years – by now, most people probably give her a wide berth – you know how it is when somebody’s been sick for a long time, even kind people grow weary of other people’s problems – this woman who has been suffering for so long, she takes the risk of reaching out and touching the fringe of Jesus’ garment, confident that Jesus offers healing.

And, Jesus draws the holy circle wider, inviting everyone – even the seemingly hopeless - into the community of love.

And now, here we are today, in our own difficult time, with simmering resentment and ever-present fear.

Today, God the risk-taker’s invitation is the same as it was in the days of Abram and Sarai – it’s a call to journey from the familiar into the unknown.

Today, God’s invitation is the same as it was when Jesus widened the holy circle by calling everyone, even Matthew the tax collector and his friends, even the hopeless, into the community of love.

One of the biggest reasons why I love St. Thomas’ is that I see us answering God’s invitation all the time.

Frankly, we have the resources to spiritually coast for a good while, but that’s never the choice that we make. 

Instead, so many of you ask, what might God be calling us to now? 

How can we be an even more generous servant church?

How can we welcome even more people into the Community of Love?

And so, we deepen our support of the Community Crisis Center and we’re about to welcome back the Paul’s Place Camp.

We open our hearts to a couple of young guys from Afghanistan.

We slide down the pew to make room for newcomers - spiritually hungry people who arrive here just about every week.

Next week, parishioners both young and not so young, will kneel before the Bishop confirming or reaffirming their faith.

Our God who is a Community of Love takes the risk of widening the holy circle.

And God invites all of us to take some risks for love, too.

I’m going to close with a blessing by the Rev. William Sloane Coffin:

May God give you the grace never to sell yourself short;

Grace to risk something big for some thing good;

And Grace to remember the world is now too dangerous for anything but the truth and too small for anything but love.

Amen.

The Parable of the Pollinator Garden

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 4, 2023

Year A: The First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

Psalm 8

2 Corinthians 13:11-13

Matthew 28:16-20

The Parable of the Pollinator Garden

In case you were wondering, now almost two years into my Maryland adventure, I’m still in awe that I get to work and live in such a beautiful place.

Many of you know that the rectory sits in what’s like our own personal park, filled with so many green plants and trees.

And there’s a trickling stream and there are birds circling overhead and a variety of woodland creatures bounding all over the place.

It’s pretty amazing.

A couple of weeks ago, here at St. Thomas’, we celebrated Rogation Sunday, giving thanks to God for the abundant and very good creation, and we asked God to help us be better stewards of all that we have received.

On Rogation Sunday, the Green Team led some walking tours of our campus, making their way through the “New Cemetery” and along the quiet nature trail and then back around past the playgrounds and to the parking lot.

It was fun watching parishioners look in wonder at the beauty that’s all around us – seeing some of it for the first time, or maybe for the first time in a long time.

Right in the heart of it all is our Pollinator Garden, just across the driveway in the circle outside the church offices.

I see and think about the Pollinator Garden all the time since it’s where I park my car during the week.

I have what must be the prettiest parking spot in town.

When I began reflecting on what I might share with you today, I kept thinking of our beautiful garden. So, finally, I called our Green Team co-chair, Donna Eden, and asked her to tell me about how the Pollinator Garden came to be.

She told me that a few years ago, several parishioners participated in a program sponsored by Blue Water Baltimore, learning how what we do up here in the County effects water quality downstream, in the City and in the Harbor.

St. Thomas’ became much more aware of water runoff and you began to look for ways to take even better care of our water and our land.

And so, the Pollinator Garden – back in May 2020, on a rainy day during some of the worst of the pandemic – several parishioners – masked and distanced – planted the garden – they nourished it and it took root and grew. 

And by the time I arrived here almost two years ago, it was beautiful and thriving, providing lots of good food for bees and butterflies.

But it was fenced in, preventing us from walking through and fully appreciating all of that beauty.

And so we took down the fence – and, well, you know what happened next.

The deer – starved of habitat and without natural predators – the deer moved right in and treated our garden like an all-you-can-eat salad bar, leaving behind a depressing scene of devastation.

Not wanting that to happen again, few months ago a parishioner generously volunteered to spray deer repellant on the garden several times a week.

        (Don't worry, there are plenty of other plants for the deer to eat!)

        And, later, others did some serious replanting – and, well, the results have been just amazing.

Some dedicated, talented, and persistent people – Frances, Donna, John, and others - took the good gifts that God has given us and nurtured them, creating the conditions that have allowed those plants to thrive.

I think of this as… the Parable of the Pollinator Garden.

Today is the First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday.

It’s the day when we are invited to reflect on and celebrate God’s inner life – our understanding that God is One in Three Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier.

Over the centuries, lots of ink has been spilled and lots of hot air has been expended in trying to explain the Trinity.

That is a fool’s errand.

The Trinity is not a puzzle to be solved but a mystery to be celebrated – a mystery that reveals to us that God’s very essence is community.

God is a Community of Love – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit bound by love, forever and ever.

And, presumably, this God who is a Community of Love could have gone it alone, perfectly sufficient, forever and ever.

But, instead, God creates all that is – and, in a truly mind-blowing plot twist - God invites us to be part of this eternal Community of Love.

God widens the Holy Circle, welcoming us, and giving us the good – very good creation – that provides all that we need.

And since we are kind of slow to grasp this amazing truth, God came among us in and through Jesus – showing us what God the Community of Love is really like – and then sending us out to invite even more people into the Holy Circle – where all are welcome – where all are able to lay down their burdens – where all are nurtured – where healing and new life are offered – where, no matter the devastation we have endured or perhaps even caused, we can all thrive.

You may remember that a couple of months ago the Rev. Caroline Stewart gathered a group of parishioners to reflect on how we experience and respond to loss and grief.

We offered this group – which we called “We Gather Together” – because several parishioners had specifically asked for it.

And, if we’re honest, we know that all of us who’ve been around for a while have faced the devastation of loss and grief – and we all need help to keep going in the face of such sorrow.

In her usual Caroline Stewart way, we began gently and quietly and thoughtfully, creating a safe space – a community of love – a holy circle - where people could express some hard and painful truths, and lay down, even for just a short time, some heavy burdens.

I knew that “We Gather Together” was going to be rich and valuable but what I didn’t expect was that, really within our first hour together, a community began to form – a community made up of some people who had known each other for a long time and others who had never met.

With God’s help, like good gardeners, Caroline and we had created the conditions that allowed this little community of love to rise from the devastation and grow and thrive, feeding all of us.

And I see that same dynamic happening all over at St. Thomas’ – in the adult Bible Study, at our Wednesday service and Bible Study, at the Thursday Morning Group, among our fabulous choir, among the children and parents hanging out together during fellowship – over and over, God who is a Community of Love is widening the holy circle, inviting us to help widen it even more, welcoming everyone to the place where healing and new life are offered – where, no matter sorrows and burdens, we can all thrive.

The Parable of the Pollinator Garden.

Amen.