Walking In Love

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 25, 2024

Year B: The Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16

Psalm 22:22-30

Romans 4:13-25

Mark 8:31-38

Walking In Love

Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

Last Friday evening, some of us who have been involved in helping our Afghan friends got together over at Gilead House.

We had been invited by our very first Afghan friend – Hizbullah – whom we first met about a year and a half ago.

As some of you know, Hizbullah is a very bright and personable guy – a go-getter for sure. So, to no one’s surprise, he has already done quite well here in his new country.

In fact, he’s just gotten himself a new job in Washington DC. Which means he’s leaving Baltimore, which is definitely bittersweet for everyone who has gotten to know him here.

So before leaving, Hizbullah invited us for one last get-together, to say thank you for the welcome and the help.

During the party, as I looked around the room at our own parishioners, and parishioners from St. Mark’s in Pikesville, and members of the synagogue Chizuk Amuno, and Betty Symington who leads ERICA, our local Episcopal group helping refugees, when I looked around at all these wonderfully capable and generous people, I thought back to a memorable lunch I had with our parishioner Louis Hogan over at the Greenspring Club, not long after I first arrived here.

We got to talking about the fall of Afghanistan and the dire plight of the Afghans desperately trying to flee, including many who had assisted the US during our long entanglement with their country.

Louis wondered if there was something that we – St. Thomas’ – might do.

And so began a long and winding journey, with many fits and starts along the way.

We learned a lot about the challenging and complicated work of refugee resettlement.

We made friends with Betty at ERICA, and folks at St. Mark’s and Chizuk Amuno, and elsewhere.

And, eventually, we welcomed Hizbullah and Abdul and Abobaker and others.

By now, Hizbullah has learned a lot about America and so he was aware that Valentine’s Day had just passed. And so he made a point of inviting spouses to his pizza party.

And so as I looked around the room, I thought of how much time and energy these wonderful people and their wives and husbands have sacrificed to welcome strangers – I thought of all the rides to and from school and work and all sorts of appointments – I thought of all the hours trying to cut through really thick and sticky red tape – I thought of all the dinner invitations and outings – I thought of all the sacrifices, although I know that each one of these people would say that caring for our new friends may not have always been easy but it has always been a gift and a blessing.

Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

One of the curious themes in the gospels is the fact that the disciples – Jesus’ friends and followers – usually have a hard time figuring out who he is exactly and what is mission is all about.

The demons always know who Jesus is, but his friends, not so much.

There are exceptions, though, or at least partial exceptions.

Just before today’s passage from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” 

That was an easy one – the disciples knew that people thought that Jesus was the return of one of Israel’s great prophets.

But then Jesus asks his disciples a tougher question.

“But who do you say that I am?”

Probably to everyone’s surprise including his own, it’s Peter who gets the answer exactly right:

He says, “You are the Messiah.”

At that moment, I always imagine Peter kind of shyly beaming, like the only student in class to give the correct answer.

But, as we heard today, the problem is that Peter and the others have not yet grasped just what kind of Messiah Jesus is.

They probably have visions of worldly glory and triumph – glory and triumph that the hoped to enjoy as Jesus’ top lieutenants.

So it must have come as quite a shock when Jesus told his friends that he was going to suffer – that he would be rejected by all the world’s powerful people – that he would be executed.

What kind of messiah – what kind of savior – is that?

Jesus also mentioned that he would rise again on the third day but by then I doubt anyone was still listening.

Peter simply cannot accept this – can’t accept that his Lord and friend was going to be hurt and die – and Peter may also have made the leap to wondering just what Jesus’ suffering and death would mean for him and the other disciples. 

And so Peter pulls Jesus aside and rebukes Jesus – a strong word, rebuke – in the gospels it’s often used when dealing with demons and evil spirits.

But Jesus does not accept Peter’s rebuke and turns it back on him, calling Peter “Satan,” the tempter – tempting Jesus to turn away from his mission of sacrifice and love.

Walk in love as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

Walking in love may sound sweet and sentimental but Jesus teaches us that this kind of love is expensive – it cost Jesus and his friends a lot – and it will cost us a lot, too.

But Jesus knows that offering ourselves, sacrificing ourselves, is the only way to new life.

The Bible and Christian history teach us that this is true.

And the Annual Report of this parish also teaches that this is true.

If you take the time to read the report – which I hope you will – you’ll find that there has been a whole lot of walking in love – a whole lot of self-offering and sacrifice – here at St. Thomas’ over the past year.

I’ve already mentioned all the time and effort given for our Afghan friends, but on just about every page you can read about so many parishioners – you - who have given of yourselves so abundantly.

You’ve given astronomical amounts of time to our church and its ministries and shared your talents and your treasure so generously: planning and leading Bible Study – polishing silver and brass and arranging flowers – rehearsing hymns and anthems – assisting at worship as ushers, lectors, chalicists, and acolytes – crafting quilts and blankets for people sorely in need of some warmth and comfort – guiding our Preschool and Sunday School so they can continue to be places of care and education for our children – being wise stewards of our wealth and property – writing hundreds of thank you notes to people who have pledged or given in other ways - looking into painful chapters of our church history that have been neglected or even forgotten, remembering and re-membering – sharing our time and resources with people at Paul’s Place, the Community Crisis Center, Owings Mills Elementary School and other places of good work - coming to church regularly, even when maybe you don’t feel like it, because God has been so good to us and, who knows, maybe the person sitting near you just really needs you to be here.

Yes, there has been a whole lot of walking in love – a whole lot of self-offering and sacrifice – here at St. Thomas’ over the past year.

And no one has given more of herself to our church than Jesse VanGeison.

Although much of her work as Senior Warden has taken place behind the scenes at many meetings – so many meetings – you know that on top of her many warden responsibilities, Jesse also coordinates hospitality on Sunday, is leading our Cemetery Unity Committee with great devotion, and, as if that were not enough, has recently stepped up yet again to coordinate our Sunday School.

All of this on top of her demanding professional responsibilities.

It is a rare day that Jesse and our exceptional Junior Warden Barritt Peterson and I aren’t in some kind of communication – innumerable texts, and phone calls, and, yes, meetings both in person and on Zoom.

Over these past couple of years I’ve come to know what many of you have known for a long time: Jesse is an extraordinary person – wise and skilled and generous – and with a really big heart.

At the end of most of our meetings or calls, Jesse will ask me, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Is there anything I can do to support you?”

What a tremendous gift and example for all of us – a servant leader for a servant church, walking in love, giving away so much of herself for God and for us.

So, yes, there has been a whole lot of walking in love – a whole lot of self-offering and sacrifice – here at St. Thomas’ over the past year.

And look where it has brought us!

Peter wasn’t able to hear Jesus say that he would rise again on the third day, but, eventually, he got it – he experienced the New Life of Jesus.

And, during a hard time in our land and our world and many of our lives, maybe we can’t hear the promise of new life, either.

So I say, read the Annual Report.

Or just look around.

And, most of all, let’s keep walking – let’s keep walking together – walking in love as Christ loved us, an offering and sacrifice to God.

Amen.

The God of Second Chances

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 18, 2024

Year B: The First Sunday in Lent

Genesis 9:8-17

Psalm 25:1-9

1 Peter 3:18-22

Mark 1:9-15

The God of Second Chances

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Maybe you’ve heard that quote from the writer Maya Angelou.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Maya Angelou’s words point to the importance of first impressions and trusting our gut.

The quote comes up a lot when a politician or a celebrity does something wrong – something wrong that comes as no surprise to anyone who has been paying attention all along.

And I bet this quote rings true for any of us who’ve been burned by someone – burned by the same someone in the same way – over and over again.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

The idea seems to be that it’s better to make a quick decision about someone, better to not hope for improvement, better to avoid disappointment, heartbreak, or worse.

Maya Angelou was very wise but, fortunately for us, this is not how God operates.

No, God is the God of Second Chances.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard the end of the story of the Great Flood, Noah, and the Ark filled with pairs of the world’s creatures.

Just like the story of Jonah that we talked about a few weeks ago, Noah’s Ark is one of the Bible stories that we often share with children – probably because there are animals involved.

I wonder about that because, when you stop and think about them, both stories have terrifying elements.

Jonah spending three days and nights in the belly of the Great Fish sounds like the stuff of nightmares.

And even worse, God getting so fed up with our misbehavior that God floods the entire planet, destroying every living thing except Noah and his family and the animals he was able to cram onto the ark – well, it’s hard to imagine something more frightening than that.

But at the end of the story, it almost sounds like God has some second thoughts about the flood – or, if not second thoughts then at least God promises never to do something like this again – and God seals this promise – this covenant – with a rainbow across the sky.

Just like in the story of Jonah, when he was disgorged from the big fish and given an opportunity to go to Nineveh and just like when the people of Nineveh repent and God decides not to destroy the city, God is revealed to be the God of Second Chances.

God is the God of Second Chances.

But why?

I mean, let’s face it, if you or I were God we would’ve given up on us long ago, turned our attention to some other planet, some other more obedient species with a better track record of love and generosity and forgiveness.

If you or I were God we would’ve given up long ago on a world where sick and addicted people are camped out on the streets of the wealthiest country on earth – a world where we can’t even have a Super Bowl parade without some angry and armed person opening fire – a world where a brutal dictator coldly disposes of his opponents without guilt or fear – a world filled with our less dramatic but still destructive cruelties and dishonesties

It would seem that we have shown God who we are, over and over.

But maybe that’s not true.

I’ve mentioned to you before that one of my spiritual heroes is Thomas Merton, the 20th Century monk and writer.

Thomas Merton spent a lot of time thinking and writing about what he called our real and false selves.

Merton wrote, “Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self. This is the man I want to be but who cannot exist. Because God does not know anything about him. And to be unknown of God is altogether too much privacy.”

Our false self is the person we present to the world – the mask we wear to get along in this messed up world we have created.

The false self thinks it can be satisfied with money, power, prestige, or just security – and yet they are all illusions.

The false self uses others for our own benefit or pleasure.

The false self is never truly at rest, at peace.

And so, as Thomas Merton, wrote, God doesn’t have anything to do with our false self.

But God knows our real self – the real self that is such a great mystery that we may not even know it ourselves.

But when we look at Jesus – the Ultimate Second Chance given to us by God – we see what’s real.

When we look at Jesus, we see what God is really like and we see what we are really like, too.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark, we again heard the story of Jesus’ baptism – this one-on-one encounter between God the Father and Jesus the Son, the Beloved with whom God is well pleased.

Our real self, beloved by God.

And immediately after Jesus’ baptism, we’re told that the Spirit cast Jesus into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan. 

I like that Mark doesn’t tell us the exact nature of the temptations because that means we can fill in the blanks and think of our own temptations, our own weak spots, and know that Jesus can resist them.

With God’s help, our real self can resist our temptations – and live the lives of love that God has always intended for us.

So this is our task, especially during Lent.

With God’s help, we face our sinfulness and repent.

With God’s help, we recognize that the stuff we spend so much time, energy and money chasing, will never really satisfy us.

With God’s help, we look more closely at Jesus and see who God really is.

With God’s help, we look more closely at Jesus and see who we really are.

If you were here last week, you may remember that in my sermon I talked about my recent trip to San Francisco, which happened to coincide with the fierce rainstorms that swamped much of the California coast.

The worst of it was on Sunday when I made a memorable trip up and down “the mountain" to Grace Cathedral.

The next day, Monday, the storm had subsided.

I took an early morning walk down to the Bay where I was greeted with the most beautiful rainbow, soaring across the vast, open sky.

There weren’t too many people out yet but most of us there, including me, pulled out our phones and tried to photograph the rainbow’s beauty, its wide embrace.

No matter the storms of our life, no matter our sins and failures, no matter how we get fooled by our false self, God has known from the start who we really are.

And so, long after we might have given up on us, God promises to be – continues to be - the God of Second Chances.

Amen.

 

Abounding In Steadfast Love

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 14, 2024

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:L1-2, 12-17

Psalm 103

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Abounding In Steadfast Love

So the calendar has been playing some tricks on us lately.

You may remember that just a month and a half ago the Fourth Sunday of Advent was also Christmas Eve, a liturgical mash-up that required some flexibility and a quick turnaround here in church.  

And now today, Ash Wednesday, the start of the holy season of Lent… is also Valentine’s Day.

Of course, this calendar collision hasn’t required us to change our plans here in church but it has unleashed some online church humor.

Maybe you’ve seen some of the memes that have been floating around the Internet:

My favorite is the one that shows one of those little candy hearts that usually have sweet messages like “Be Mine” or “I luv U,” but this one says “Remember U R Dust.”

And then at the bottom of the meme there’s this little reminder: “You can’t spell Valentine without Lent.”

Which, you know, is actually true.

I’m usually not a fan of church humor but these have been fun, and, who knows, maybe they’ve helped to remind some people about Ash Wednesday.

And, you know, today’s calendar mash-up does remind us of a great truth.

None of what we are doing here today makes any sense without love.

I’m guessing that you don’t need me to tell you that we are going to die some day.

But we do need to remember and celebrate God’s love for us.

In today’s opening prayer, I said that God hates nothing that God has made.

That’s accurate, as far as it goes, but the truth is way better than that.

As the Prophet Joel wrote long ago, God is “abounding in steadfast love.”

God is abounding in steadfast love – that’s why God came among us in and through Jesus.

Unfortunately, we often reject God’s love.

We turn away from God’s love when we’re not loving - when we judge other people – when we refuse to share what we think is ours – when we are less than faithful in prayer and worship – when we treat people as things to use for our benefit or pleasure - when we think there is such a thing as “us” and “them” when with God it’s always just “us.”

It’s hard to face our sins.

It’s frightening to look at our mortality.

But God is abounding in steadfast love, so we are never rejected and abandoned, no matter what we do or don’t do.

God is abounding in steadfast love, always inviting us, urging us, to turn around, to come back, to live and love as we were always meant to live and love.

May we all have a holy and love-filled Lent, trusting in, and returning to, the God who abounds in steadfast love.

Amen. 

Sacred Ground

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 11, 2024

Year B: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

2 Kings 2:1-12

Psalm 50:1-6

2 Corinthians 4:3-6

Mark 9:2-9

Sacred Ground

Many of you know that I took some vacation time last week. I was out in San Francisco for a few days, just in time for the torrential rains – the so-called “atmospheric river” - that soaked the California coast.

The worst of the rain hit San Francisco last Sunday.

That morning, I woke up to the pouring rain and the howling wind. I reconsidered my plan to walk up to Grace Cathedral – the grand Episcopal church that sits at the top of swanky Nob Hill.

I thought about what it would be like to walk up the steep hill to the Cathedral, certain that my flimsy umbrella would be no match for this fierce storm.

I imagined finally reaching the cathedral, soaked, chilled, and exhausted.

I also thought, I mean, I go to church all the time – so maybe I could sit out this one Sunday.

But then I thought of you, how so many of you manage to get here even when the weather isn’t so great, even when it might be tempting to just stay in bed, to roll back over and get more sleep, or just take some time for yourself, maybe pouring a leisurely second cup of coffee.

So, I prepared for the storm as best I could and ventured out.

As it happened, the storm let up a bit as I huffed and puffed up California Street – and it felt good to reach Grace Cathedral, to once again step onto that sacred ground - to enter that holy place – to take in its vastness and early morning quiet.

The service was beautiful – the congregation welcoming and seemingly happy to be there, despite the weather.

I had the rare-for-me experience of being a person in the pew – or the chair, actually – totally anonymous and not having to worry about what I was going to say or do next.

By the end of the service I had just about forgotten about the storm outside.

But when I reached the cathedral doors, the wind was whipping around the top of Nob Hill, the rain was coming down in great sheets, and I could plainly see why they call it an “atmospheric river.”

A bunch of us waited in the cathedral vestibule, looking out nervously for any sign of let up, checking the weather app on our phones to get the latest forecast.

But finally, one by one we faced reality, zipping our jackets and pulling up hoods, opening our umbrellas, stepping out into the raging storm, getting on with our lives, leaving the safety and serenity of the cathedral and making our way down the hill.

And now here it is a week later and I’m back on our holy hill, on sacred ground, with all of you.

It’s the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before the start of Lent on Ash Wednesday.

And, as we do on this day every year, today’s gospel lesson takes us up yet another holy hill, to sacred ground.

We heard the story of the Transfiguration as told by the Gospel of Mark.

Jesus and his “inner circle” of disciples – Peter, James, and John, head up the mountain for some time away, away from all those people hunting for Jesus, hungry for his teaching, begging for his healing.

While they’re up on the mountain, Jesus is transformed before their eyes – his clothes whiter than any white – and he is joined by Elijah and Moses, two towering figures of Israel’s past.

What does one say or do in response to such a vision?

Well, Peter makes the totally reasonable suggestion of building dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Maybe he’s thinking, let’s try to hold onto this moment for as long as we can.

No sooner does Peter propose this capital project then a cloud overshadows them all and the voice from heaven declares,

“This is my Son, the beloved, listen to him!”

And then, after the voice grows silent and the cloud and Elijah and Moses vanish, it’s time for Jesus to head down the mountain and face all that awaits them: the Cross, the Tomb, and New Life.

But before we move on, I’d like to circle back to Peter and his mountaintop building project.

When Peter proposed the dwelling places for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, he was probably recalling the exodus of his Israelite ancestors from Egypt, when God would meet with Moses in what was called the “tent of meeting.”

Up on the mountain, Peter recognized that God had come among God’s people once again, and so it seemed right that some kind of shelter should be constructed on this sacred ground.

I think Peter should get half-credit for this.

He’s not wrong but the truth is even more amazing than he can yet grasp.

In and through Jesus, God has come among us again – come among us as one of us.

But Jesus sanctifies much more than just a piece of mountaintop real estate.

Jesus, God’s Son, makes holy the parts of the world that are obviously beautiful like Grace Cathedral on Nob Hill in San Francisco and St. Thomas’ Church here on our little hill above Garrison Forest.

But Jesus doesn’t just stay up on the mountain.

No, Jesus, comes down the mountain, down into the depths and the mess, down into the storms of life, making holy the parts of the world – the parts of our lives - that might not seem beautiful at all – the places of suffering, fear, and death.

I’ve been fortunate to visit San Francisco a bunch of times, and over the years, I’ve discovered places I like to go each time, different restaurants and parks and walking routes.

But when I planned this trip, I decided I wanted to see and do some things that I hadn’t seen and done before.

So, I attended a beautiful concert by the San Francisco Symphony.

And I also visited the Tenderloin Museum.

If you know San Francisco, you may know that the Tenderloin has long been the city’s Skid Row – the neighborhood where the poor and the addicted live, either in Single Room Occupancy hotels or just out on the sidewalks.

Frankly, it’s one neighborhood that I’ve always avoided.

After all, I was on vacation – and I certainly don’t have to travel across the country to witness poverty and despair.

But I was intrigued by the Tenderloin Museum, interested to learn more about this seemingly God-forsaken neighborhood.

Of course, to get to the museum, I had to walk the streets of the Tenderloin and, while I wasn’t afraid, I was certainly on alert and it was painfully sad to see so many people camped out on the sidewalk, imprisoned by illness, by addiction.

The museum itself, however, is a bright, clean, modern space.

I was the only visitor at the time.

It was so quiet in there – even prayerful.

Making my way around the exhibits, I learned about the neighborhood’s history, how it had long been home to oppressed and marginalized groups – waves of newly arrived immigrants, gay and transgender people – people who fought for their rights, doing the best they could for themselves and their neighborhood.

And the museum had information about some of the Christian congregations and organizations that have stuck it out in that challenging soil.

Sure enough, Jesus is in the Tenderloin, too, making it sacred ground.

There’s Glide Memorial Church, a formerly Methodist church that has long thrown open its doors to the poor and the hurting and advocated for their well-being.

And there is St. Anthony’s Mission.

Back in 1950, a Franciscan priest named Father Alfred Boedekker opened St. Anthony’s Dining Room. On the first day he expected to serve 150 meals and ended up serving 400. And they’ve been at it ever since, just like our own Paul’s Place, gradually expanding their menu of services, shining the Light of Christ on a place long neglected – a place not God-forsaken at all, ground made sacred by Jesus Christ the Son of God.

Since Lent begins on Wednesday, you may have been making plans for what to give up or to take on during that holy season.

After my San Francisco experience, after my trip up and down the mountain, I’m going to ask God to remind me that God has come among us in Jesus Christ, who has made the whole earth – from swanky Nob Hill to the suffering Tenderloin – has made all of it - sacred ground.

Amen.

 

Faithfulness, Patience, Tenacity

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 28, 2024

Year B: The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Deuteronomy 17:15-20

Psalm 111

1 Corinthians 8:1-13

Mark 1:21-28

Faithfulness, Patience, Tenacity

I’ve mentioned to you before that one of the highlights of my week is our Service of Holy Communion with Anointing, followed by Bible Study – every Wednesday at noon, over in the Old School Building.

We really have a wonderful little community – to which you are all invited!

I especially enjoy when we celebrate one of the so-called “Lesser Feasts,” one of the days when the Church remembers a holy person of the past.

I love learning and talking about these people, telling their stories of faith and sacrifice, drawing inspiration from their example, and trying to make connections from their time to how we live today.

Once a history teacher, always a history teacher, I guess!

This past Wednesday, we celebrated the Feast of Florence Li Tim-Oi, who was the first woman ordained a priest in the Anglican Communion, that family of churches descended from the Church of England, the worldwide community to which we Episcopalians belong.

Florence Li Tim-Oi was born in Hong Kong in 1907 and was baptized while she was a student, taking the name of Florence in honor of Florence Nightingale.

Unusually for a woman of her time and place, she studied theology and, in 1941, she was ordained a deaconess – an order of ministry for women that no longer exists but maybe some of you remember.

As a deaconess, she served refugees in Macao, a Portuguese colony on the Chinese coast.

Portugal remained neutral in World War II, so Macao was spared the worst. But the war prevented Anglican priests from getting there to provide the sacraments and pastoral care to the people.

So, Florence Li Tim-Oi was ordained a deacon in 1941 and given special permission to celebrate the Eucharist in Macao.

Finally, although he was not in favor of women’s ordination, but choosing the spiritual needs of the people over church rules, the Bishop of Hong Kong ordained Florence Li Tim-Oi a priest. 

The date was January 25, 1944 – eighty years ago. 

While the war raged, people had way more pressing things to deal with than a woman priest but once peace was achieved, attention turned to this unique ordination and there was, as you’d guess, great opposition.

Recognizing and respecting the view of the Church, Florence Li Tim-Oi stopped exercising her priestly ministry, but she never renounced her ordination.

Life for Chinese Christians became more difficult after the Communist Revolution in 1949 and became nearly impossible when Mao unleashed the Cultural Revolution in 1958 and all churches in China were closed.

Like other educated people, Florence Li Tim-Oi was forced to work in a factory and on a farm. Later, the Communists grew suspicious of her and sent her to a reeducation camp.

Through all of this oppression and suffering, she was able to hold onto her faith, finding time as best she could to pray.

The Chinese churches were reopened in 1979 and Florence Li Tim-Oi resumed her ministry, eventually settling in Canada where she served as a priest in the Anglican Church of Canada.

She died in Canada in 1992.

I think you’ll agree that even if she weren’t the first woman to be ordained, she would still be worthy of honor. 

And her life of faith and courage offer us an example and inspiration in our time.

In the words of the prayer for her feast day, “Grant that we, following the example of Florence Li Tim-Oi, chosen priest in your church, may with faithfulness, patience, and tenacity, proclaim your holy gospel to all the nations…”

Faithfulness, patience, and tenacity.

Faithfulness, patience, and tenacity.

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry, as told in the Gospel of Mark.

It’s the Sabbath and Jesus the faithful Jew is in the synagogue in the seaside town of Capernaum.

Although Mark doesn’t tell us the content of Jesus’ teaching, we are told that everybody is “astounded” by what he has to say.

Nobody has ever heard anyone teach like this before.

But Jesus is just getting started.

Suddenly, a man tormented by an “unclean spirit” appears and begins crying out.

It’s always interesting that in the gospels most people, including his closest disciples, have a hard time figuring out who Jesus is, but not the unclean spirits, not the demons.

They always know exactly who he is.

This unclean spirit says, “I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”

Well, in a dramatic display of power, Jesus casts out the spirit, and everybody in the synagogue is even more amazed, and we’re told that the word about Jesus spread far and wide.

I bet it did!

Well, if you’re feeling a little uncomfortable right now, I don’t blame you.

For people of our time and place, talk of unclean spirits and demons may sound kind of ignorant or superstitious.

After all, we know way more about physical and mental illness than people did two thousand years ago.

On the other hand, all you have to do is turn on the news to know that unclean spirits and demons continue to roam the earth, some cleverly disguised while others are pretty much out in the open – they’re out there causing chaos and so much suffering.

It’s noteworthy that in the story we heard today, the man possessed by the unclean spirit goes to the synagogue, enters a holy place.

I’m not sure what to make of that – it could be a bold move to find help and get relief – or maybe it was a brazen attack.

But it got me thinking about the unclean spirits of our time, the unclean spirits that can enter the Church – not just our church here, but the “big Church.”

And as I’ve thought about this, it seems to me that the un-cleanest and most dangerous spirit of our time is fear.

There is certainly a lot to be afraid of.

Our democracy and even our union are looking pretty fragile. 

Horrific wars are raging in Ukraine and Gaza and elsewhere, risking wider and even more destructive conflicts.

Lots of people are having a hard time paying their bills. 

We know the climate is changing with all sorts of dire consequences. I mean, just last week the temperature here zoomed from a bone-chilling 10 degrees to a balmy 72 degrees!

And we all have our own stuff to deal with – our own particular fears for ourselves and the people we care about the most.

It is perfectly understandable to be afraid. But getting stuck in fear is very dangerous.

In his remarkable new book about American evangelical Christians, Tim Alberta, a writer for The Atlantic magazine, who is an evangelical himself, writes this:

“There is a reason that scripture warns so often and so forcefully against fear: it is just as powerful as faith.”

That’s quite a statement, isn’t it?

Fear is just as powerful as faith.

Fear clouds our judgment and causes us to ignore, or even toss away, our moral compass – to blame “somebody” for all our troubles - to do whatever it takes to ease our fears.

Fear is just as powerful as faith.

And so, with God’s help, we need to make a conscious choice to be not afraid.

I’m not talking about sticking our heads in the sand.

We should certainly be aware of the threats we face.

But, with God’s help, especially in these difficult times, we need to choose faith over fear.

After all, Jesus was way more powerful than the unclean spirit on that long ago Sabbath – and Jesus is still way more powerful than the unclean spirits of our time.

Florence Li Tim-Oi knew that.

Throughout the many challenges and hardships she faced, I’m sure that she was sometimes frightened.

How could she not be?

But she did not give into those fears.

Instead, during very hard times, she persevered, proclaiming the Good News with faithfulness, patience, and tenacity.

And, with God’s help, we can do the same.

Faithfulness, patience, and tenacity.

Amen.

Getting Into the Stream of Grace and Power

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 21, 2024

Year B: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Jonah 3:1-5, 10

Psalm 62:6-14

1 Corinthians 7:29-31

Mark 1:14-20

Getting Into the Stream of Grace and Power 

In today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard just a snippet from the Book of Jonah.

Jonah is one of my favorite Bible stories.

It’s a tale that we often share with children, I guess because there’s an animal involved.

The story goes that God tells Jonah to go to the great city of Nineveh and call its residents to repent, otherwise God will destroy the city.

But Nineveh was the capital of the Assyrian Empire, an enemy of Israel.  And so, Jonah, quite understandably, does not want to go to Nineveh and, frankly, he’d be perfectly happy if God just destroy the city and all the people who lived there.

Jonah doesn’t just refuse God’s command, though. He runs off in the opposite direction of Nineveh, gets himself on a boat, and hopes to somehow outdistance God.

Well, as Jonah learns, God is everywhere.

And God can be quite persistent.

And so God stirs up a fierce storm. The others on the boat figure out that passenger Jonah is the cause of the storm. Jonah confirms that they’re right and, very generously, he offers to have himself thrown overboard to spare the crew. To their credit, at first the sailors refuse to do this but the storm continues to wail, threatening all their lives and so, reluctantly, they do throw Jonah overboard.

And, in the most famous part of the story, Jonah is swallowed by a big fish and spends three days and nights in its belly. 

After Jonah prays some fervent prayers, God commands the fish to, well, disgorge Jonah onto the shore.

And then, God basically, says to Jonah: Let’s try this again?

And although Jonah’s still not happy about it, he goes to Nineveh, and warns them of their impending doom.

And to Jonah’s dismay, the people, from the king on down, they accept Jonah’s call to repent. They change their ways and God spared the great city.

It’s a wonderful story because Jonah is such a recognizable figure.

For perfectly understandable reasons, Jonah resists God’s will.

I don’t want to go to Nineveh.

I don’t care what happens to the people who live there.

        But God cares about Nineveh and its people.

And there are consequences to resisting God’s will. It must have been awfully dark and smelly and scary in the belly of the fish.

But when Jonah accepts God’s will, even when he didn’t really feel like it, even when he wished that God had asked him to do some other task or to go somewhere else, the people Nineveh heard Jonah’s message – heard God’s message - and they changed their ways and they were saved. 

Well, despite the big Ravens game – and, wow, what a game it was – and despite the bitter cold and lingering ice, I was so pleased that so many people heard the call to come to the third edition of our Shoemaker Speaker Series yesterday afternoon.

And there were a good number of people watching at home and I’m sure many more have and will watch the recording.

If you haven’t seen it, I hope you will.

Dr. Jamie Marich offered us much wisdom on applying the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous to healing from trauma – trauma, which, unfortunately, touches most, if not all, of our lives.

And my friend and colleague the Rev. Arianne Rice asked Dr. Marich thoughtful questions, both her own and from the audience.

As most of you know, the idea behind the speaker series is to honor and remember Sam Shoemaker, son of the Greenspring Valley and probably the best-known Episcopal priest of the mid-Twentieth Century, and also, in some small way, to extend Shoemaker’s ministry into our time.

Sam Shoemaker is best remembered for providing the spiritual foundation for the Twelve Steps of AA – a huge contribution, of course. But he was also a faithful pastor, tireless evangelist, highly regarded preacher, and prolific author.

I’ve been making my way through some of his many books – yes, this is what I do for fun – and I came across this quote:

“Our religion is a stream of power and grace flowing out from God, to us, and then through us. When we get into that stream, we are carried along by it. It bears us and lifts us and moves us and guides us. But we must commit ourselves to it, and immerse ourselves in it.”

Our religion is a stream of power and grace…and we must immerse ourselves in it.

At first, Jonah resisted that stream of power and grace, and with unpleasant consequences.

But in today’s gospel lesson we hear the story of Jesus calling his fishermen disciples, the two pairs of brothers, Simon Peter and Andrew and James and John.

And one of the striking features of this story is how these fishermen – these seemingly ordinary people with no fancy theological education – no formal education at all, probably – they practically jump out of their boats and immerse themselves in God’s stream of power and grace – the stream that they recognized and joined, in and through Jesus.

Peter and Andrew and James and John, they got out of their boats and into God’s stream – and we know some of what awaits them – they won’t be perfect, they’ll mess up, and there will be sacrifice and suffering – but ultimately they will experience the New Life of Easter – a far more powerful sign than surviving three days and nights in the belly of a big fish.

In a few moments, I’ll have the joy and privilege of baptizing Edward Welbourn V – that’s Skip to you - the latest in a long line of people who have taken the plunge right here at St. Thomas’.

Now, Skip’s baptism may not look like immersion but make no mistake, he is being placed into God’s stream of power and grace.

And, for the rest of his life, Skip will be called to live out his baptism promises made on his behalf today.

Over and over, he will be called to step into God’s stream of power and grace - the stream that will guide him as he prays and asks forgiveness – the stream that will carry him as he proclaims the Good News by what he says and does, as he loves his neighbor as himself, even when he doesn't feel like it.

    The stream will carry him as he looks for Christ in everyone, even the people we’re taught to fear and hate, even the people of Nineveh. 

And, no matter how long ago we were baptized, you and I are called to step into God’s stream of power and grace, just like the reluctant Jonah, just like the flawed but faithful fishermen brothers, and just like Sam Shoemaker who, with God’s help, led so many people to New Life in Jesus Christ.

Amen.

“Come and See” (Or, “You Should Come to My Church Sometime”)

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 14, 2024

Year B: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

1 Samuel 3:1-20

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

1 Corinthians 6:12-20

John 1:43-51

“Come and See” (Or, “You Should Come to My Church Sometime”)

Around twenty-five years ago, Sue and I were living lives very different from how we live today.

Back then we had been married for a couple of years. We had just purchased our own home, a narrow house squeezed in the middle of a row of three.

Sue was working in New York City at the corporate office of Barnes and Noble. (Man, I still miss that employee discount!)

And I was teaching history at my high school alma mater, St. Peter’s Prep, a Jesuit school in Downtown Jersey City.

So, back around the turn of the century, if you had asked me about my future – our future – I think I would have expected things to stay pretty much the same for a long time.

I had wanted to teach at St. Peter’s for years, so it felt like I had landed my dream job.

Why would I ever leave?

And Sue already had a lot of responsibility at B&N and I expected that she would continue to rise through the ranks.

I’ve always been a little restless, but I think I was mostly content.

At some point, though, I did realize that something important was missing from our lives.

Sue and I didn’t go to church.

Teaching in a Catholic school, I sort of got church through my job, but that wasn’t the same as the two of us being part of a local parish and attending Sunday Mass.

So, in the Year 2000, on the eve of the First Sunday of Advent, we walked from our house to a local Catholic church and attended a Saturday evening Mass. 

It was not a good experience.

Now, if that were today, I would be much more forgiving.

After all, I’ve presided over many less than inspiring services and I’ve preached any number of clunky sermons.

Despite the best intentions and efforts, it happens.

But, back then, both Sue and I were very much “one and done.”

We were definitely not going back there.

So, that week I was telling this story in the faculty room – probably carrying on a bit, exaggerating how bad it was to get some laughs from the other teachers – when one of my colleagues – a math teacher named Patty - quietly said, “You should come to my church sometime.”

And Patty’s church was St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, which happened to be walking distance from our house.

She went on to tell me why she thought I would like it. I specifically remember that she thought that I would hit it off with the priest.

A bit of prophecy there.

So, anyway, the next Sunday, the Second Sunday of Advent, Sue and I decided to try again, and walked to St. Paul’s.

And as soon as we entered the church, somehow I knew that I had found “it.”

I didn’t even know what “it” was but I knew “it” was there.

I was struck by the warm welcome, the beauty of the old building, the diversity and friendliness of the people, the gorgeous music, and, yes, the priest who preached with power and authenticity.

During the shockingly enthusiastic Exchange of Peace, when Sue and I were shyly staying in our pew offering just some smiles and waves, the priest came down the aisle and extended his hand to us and said, “I’m Dave. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”

On that now long ago December morning, somehow I knew that I had reached a turning point in my life.

Sue and I went back to St. Paul’s on the following Sunday and for years of Sundays after.

Dave – the Rev. David Hamilton – and I became very close friends – he was like a father, brother, and mentor all wrapped in one – and a couple of decades later I would have the sad privilege of presiding and preaching at his funeral at the cathedral in Newark.

And, of course, soon I began to sense a reawakened call to the priest, beginning a journey that eventually brought me back to St. Paul’s as its rector and finally to someplace called… Owings Mills. 

And none of it would have happened if that day in the faculty room Patty hadn’t spoken up and said, “You should come to my church some time.”

Or, as Philip says to Nathanael in today’s gospel lesson, “Come and see.”

I know that I’ve told you parts of that story before.

I do try to avoid repeating myself but then I thought that I bet Nathanael retold the story of Philip inviting him to “Come and see” – I bet he told that story over and over.

I think about my story all the time and I’ve shared it many times – and I think it’s a story worth repeating because it illustrates a great truth: 

The story of Philip calling Nathanael to Jesus is not just a story from long ago.

The call to “Come and see” is not just found in the Bible.

In our own time and place, we can – should – must - invite people to “come and see.”

The other day, the leaders of various ministries received what is maybe a dreaded email.

It’s time to get working on our ministry reports, which will be gathered into the Annual Report, which will be distributed next month at our Annual Parish Meeting.

Although no doubt I’ll procrastinate for a while longer before I start writing my report, I have begun looking back on last year, reflecting on what has gone well and where there is still more work to be done.

There’s at least one thing that I know is noticeable because many people have commented on it: quite a few new people have joined us over the past year.

Not all of them have stuck around but many of them have.

They – you – have gotten involved in many ministries, have shown a real hunger to learn more about our faith and our church, and, yes, many newcomers have pledged their financial support for 2024.

Whenever I meet with newcomers, I ask how they found St. Thomas’ and what led them to check us out.

The three most common answers are:

The website and our online services. (In a number of cases, people watched the livestream for many weeks or even months before deciding to join us in person.)

The second is our beautiful and historic building – the understandable desire to see what it looks like inside, to find out what goes on in here.

And the third, and by far the most common and effective, is a personal invitation.

Somebody, like my colleague Patty long ago, like the Apostle Philip way longer ago, had the faith and courage to say:

“You should come to my church sometime.”

“Come and see.”

The point is not to grow our church, though that’s important.

No, we are called to extend these invitations because, like Philip and Patty, we know that we have found the “Good Stuff” – we have found Jesus, who offers love and mercy and hope, especially in a time when love and mercy and hope seem to be in short supply.

Nathanael went from being a skeptic – maybe even a bigot (“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”) to a disciple – a disciple who, even better than Philip, recognized who Jesus really is.

We are called to extend these invitations because a simple “Come and see” can transform lives.

And as my friend Dave liked to say, “I don’t have to believe it, because I’ve seen it!”

Twenty-five years ago, I was a reasonably content high school history teacher.

Yet, my life has been enriched in countless ways because one day in the faculty room, Patty quietly said, “You should come to my church sometime.”

“Come and see.”

Amen. 

"Faith is Always Personal, But Never Private"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 7, 2024

Year B: The First Sunday after the Epiphany – The Baptism of Our Lord

Genesis 1:1-5

Psalm 29

Acts 19:1-7

Mark 1:4-11

“Faith is Always Personal, But Never Private”

Well, the Christmas Season came to an end yesterday.

It was the Feast of the Epiphany – the day when we remember the Magi, who, led by a star but at great risk, traveled so far, bearing their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh for the newborn King.

Here at St. Thomas’, we celebrated the Epiphany in a rather unusual way: we had a wedding!

It was a joy to celebrate the marriage of Jessica Nyce (who grew up here) and Brian Parker in our church still so beautifully decorated for Christmas. 

It was a joy to celebrate love, the greatest of God’s good gifts.

And now today we jump ahead a couple of decades after the Epiphany, skipping over the years of Jesus’s childhood and young adulthood, the years of his life that we know almost nothing about.

  Today we jump ahead to a grown up Jesus beginning his mission – a mission that begins in the water of baptism. 

Just like beautiful little Aitana here last week, just like most, if not all, of us, Jesus was baptized.

Isn’t that extraordinary?

All four of the gospels include something about the baptism of Jesus, in somewhat different ways, but I love how Mark – the earliest and most succinct of the four, the one I just read for us – I love how Mark tells the story. 

In Mark’s account, Jesus is on the move, making the journey from his hometown of Nazareth in Galilee all the way to where John is baptizing in the River Jordan, a trip that was maybe about 150 miles.

So, this isn’t a case of Jesus just happened to be walking by, heard John’s preaching, and made a snap decision to get in line and get dunked with everybody else.

This wasn’t an “impulse baptism.”

No, Jesus is purposeful – he’s ready to begin his mission – presumably he has said goodbye for now to his family, including his mother Mary who must have always known, and perhaps dreaded, that this day would come.

And somehow Jesus knows that his mission must begin by being baptized by John – the messenger who has prepared the way.

It’s time to get started.

The kingdom of God is drawing near.

And the way Mark tells the story, Jesus’ baptism is a personal encounter between God the Father and Jesus the Son.

As Jesus comes up out of the water, he sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descends on him like a dove.

The kingdom of God is drawing near, very near.

And the voice from heaven says to Jesus – not to John and not to the others who were being baptized – but only to Jesus, directly: 

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

And then, soaked with the baptismal water, and with the voice from heaven still ringing in his ears, Jesus begins his mission – first, driven by the Spirit to endure forty days and nights in the wilderness, and then traveling from village to village, teaching and healing, gathering followers and casting out demons, and finally giving away his life in loving service to God the Father and to all of us.

And it all began with baptism.

I’m sure I must have mentioned to you how much I love baptizing people.

But I’m not sure I’ve told you why, exactly.

Well, Baptism is such a beautiful celebration of new life and hope.

And I love that we baptize people right in the middle of our Sunday service, reminding us all that, once upon a time, that was us, and giving us the opportunity to renew our baptismal promises, pledging once again to pray, repent, share, and love.

With God’s help, of course.

So, I love Baptism for all of that.

But, I confess, that my love of Baptism is partly selfish.

At every Baptism, I always have the best view.

And, while every Baptism is certainly a personal encounter between God and the person being baptized, it’s not private.

Every time, I can sense God’s grace.

In that holy moment, I can feel the indissoluble bond that God makes in Baptism – the bond God makes with the person just baptized – the bond God has made with with all of us – the bond that can never be broken, no matter what.

I mean, really, what could be better, right?

One of my all-time favorite quotes comes from Jim Wallis. He’s a writer, theologian, and activist. Maybe some of you have heard of him. He was the founder of the Christian organization Sojourners, and the longtime editor of its magazine.

Wallis wrote that for us Christians, “Faith is always personal, but never private.”

“Faith is always personal, but never private.”

I recalled those words when I reflected on Jesus’ baptism, on our baptism, and on our life together as the church, especially these days.

At his baptism, Jesus the Son had a personal encounter with God the Father.

And that personal, one-on-one encounter must have changed Jesus.

We can’t be sure how exactly, but after being bathed in that water and seeing the descending Spirit and hearing the voice from heaven, how could Jesus have been the same as before?

And after that personal experience, Jesus doesn’t just head back home to Nazareth, warmly greeted by a relieved Mary and the others.

Jesus doesn’t just keep his baptismal experience in his heart, treasuring his own personal encounter with God.

No.

Knowing for sure that he is beloved, Jesus immediately begins his ministry, out in a world where some will welcome and embrace him and where others will reject him and some will even seek to be rid of him.

“Faith is always personal, but never private.”

In last week’s sermon, I suggested that we are meant to be like the lights on our Christmas tree, shining the light of Christ, all year long. 

But I was talking about our Christmas tree out there in the circle, not the Christmas tree in our home.

We have to shine our lights out there, into our often shadowy and cold and inhospitable world.

We have to shine our lights to lead people to Jesus, just like the star led the Magi.

Part of that shining is doing good works – the good works that St. Thomas’ has long done so faithfully and generously.

But part of that shining is also telling our story, sharing with others why our faith is important and meaningful to us, why we come here week after week, how God has been so good to us - explaining why we’ve decided to follow the way of Jesus, despite the very real costs.

I suspect that this kind of shining – the telling of our story – is much harder for most of us than doing good works.

Yet, especially these days, when fear and hate are on the loose, we have such an important – such a vital story – to tell.

In so many different and personal ways, God has brought all of us together here at St. Thomas’ – to be a sign for our community and beyond that it’s possible for people of different backgrounds and with various ideas to pray and serve together, to love one another.

In our beautiful diversity, we know that we are all beloved by God.

And our mission, which begins in the water of baptism, is to share that Good News, in what we do – and by what we say.

“Faith is always personal, but never private.” 

Amen.