Encountering God in Places High and Low

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 27, 2022

Year C: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

Luke 9:28-43a

Encountering God in Places High and Low

It feels like about three months ago now, but last Monday – Presidents’ Day – was an extraordinarily beautiful day.

In the afternoon I finally did something I’ve been meaning to do since I arrived here in July: I explored the quieter, more remote areas of our expansive church grounds.

Since it was a holiday, there was not another soul around as I made my way from the parking lot into the woods, finding the little trail that I had heard about.

It was still and quiet, except for a few startled chipmunks darting around and birds fluttering and chirping, maybe warning others that an unexpected visitor was in the area.

At one point I walked to the northern edge of our property and looked down at what was Rosewood and is now being redeveloped by Stevenson University.

I should have realized this before – I mean I drive up and down Garrison Forest Road all the time – but it was only when I stood there looking way down at the vast construction site far below– it was only then that I fully appreciated that St. Thomas’ is a high place.

That’s not an accident, of course.

About 280 years ago, the founders of our church deliberately chose this high place, because of its prominence and maybe also for ease of defense in case of war.

But, I’m sure they also chose this land because, for as long as we can remember, people have encountered God in high places.

We heard about two of those encounters in today’s lessons.

It was up on Mount Sinai that God presented Moses with the Ten Commandments. For Moses, it was an encounter so intense that his face continued to shine bright – a sight so terrifying to his fellow Israelites that Moses chose to wear a veil.

And then, in today’s gospel lesson we were back up on the mountain with Jesus and three of his disciples disciples: Peter, James and John.

Before their eyes, Jesus is transformed – transfigured – his face changed and his clothes now dazzlingly white.

Then Jesus is joined by Moses and another key figure from Israel’s history, Elijah.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, suddenly a cloud overshadowed and enveloped them, and a voice announced, “This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!”

And just as suddenly as this mountaintop experience began, it was over, leaving only Jesus and his three friends, who were so overwhelmed by it all that they wisely chose to keep it to themselves, at least for a while.

And then there is our own story: for the better part of three centuries, people have encountered God right here at St. Thomas’, right here at this high place.

For all these years, people have gathered here, stepping over that now worn-down threshold, walking on these very bricks, bringing their deepest hopes, their worst fears, their profoundest sorrows, bringing all that and more to God, bathing these old walls in prayer.

For the better part of three centuries, people have encountered God right here in this high place, in word and sacrament, through music, through the genuine care shown to one another, and the simple joy of breaking bread, of sipping coffee, of digging into a stack of pancakes, together.

In the short time I have been here, I have already encountered God here more times than I can count.

From our first Sunday together when I saw so many of you making your way up the front walk, your faces glowing – maybe not requiring a veil, but still awfully bright.

And in the half year or so since, I have encountered God each time we have gathered to pray, to sing, to receive Communion, to wrestle with Scripture – each time I’ve heard our preschool children laughing and learning - each time we’ve said farewell to cherished parishioners, each time we have dared to dream about our future, together.

Yes, just like so many of our spiritual ancestors, we encounter God right here, in a high place.

Although Peter had the totally reasonable idea of building shrines for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah, trying to hold onto that mountaintop experience for as long as he could, in the end Jesus and his friends had to come back down the mountain and wade back into the world, with all of its suffering and fears.

No surprise, there’s a crowd waiting for Jesus, eager to hear the good news, hoping against hope for healing and new life.

A voice cuts through the din of the crowd, a desperate father crying out to Jesus, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child.”

The father goes on to describe his ailment, something that sounds like epilepsy. And the father goes on to tell Jesus that he had asked the disciples to heal the poor boy but they couldn’t do it.

This is not an unfamiliar situation. The gospels include several stories of frantic parents begging Jesus to heal their children. But this time, Jesus does not offer words of compassion.

Instead, Jesus sounds angry and frustrated.

He sounds like he’s just about had it.

He says, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?”

Maybe Jesus is disappointed in his disciples, or maybe Jesus is having some trouble shifting from his high place encounter down to the mess of the world, down to the troubles of the low place.

Nevertheless, Jesus casts out the spirit and heals the boy – the boy, who, thanks to Jesus, has his own transfiguration – no longer foaming at the mouth and thrashing around but restored to peace and health.

Luke tells us, “all were astounded at the greatness of God.”

Yes, we can and do encounter God in high places like here at St. Thomas’.

But, like suffering boy and his desperate father, like all the people in the crowd that day, we can also encounter God in the low places, too.

Over the past half-year or so, I’ve heard so many of you talk about encounters with God in the low places: the mission trips and Habitat for Humanity builds; bringing delicious food and many other gifts to the folks at Paul’s Place and the Community Crisis Center; working together to meet the endless challenges that arise as we care for so much property and some very old old buildings. 

And, most of all, I know you have encountered God in the low places of illness, fear, and loss - when you’ve been supported by Malcolm Ellis or Bill Baxter or the other clergy who have come before me – when you’ve been held by other parishioners, transforming low places into moments of grace.

The great truth is that we encounter God in places both high and low.

Today is the day of our annual parish meeting when we will hear and read reports about the business and ministries of the church.

The details are important but if we listen and read between the lines we will discover stories of encountering God in places both high and low.

And today is also the last Sunday after the Epiphany, the final Sunday before Lent.

Soon, our alleluias will be silenced and most of the shiny things here in church will either be put away or veiled, some of the language and the order of our services will be adjusted, too – all of these changes meant not to confuse or annoy us, but to get us to pay attention – to ponder what’s been going on in our hearts and our lives - to help us keep an eye out God.

And, finally, the world today has been brought low by the lingering effects of the pandemic, economic uncertainty, bitter partisan divisions, the ongoing Afghan refugee crisis, and, of course, the heartbreakingly tragic and highly dangerous war in Ukraine.

I wonder what Jesus says about this generation!

So, thank God, thank God, that we have this high place, right?

But we can’t just stay here.

As members of a servant church, we are called to come down the mountain and go into the low places, sharing God’s love and mercy, offering small but essential gifts of peace and healing where there is so much hurt and suffering.

All with God’s help, of course.

So, as we look to an uncertain and even frightening future, we can be sure of at least this:

Just like our spiritual ancestors, we will go on encountering God, in places high and low.

Amen.

A Radically Different Way

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 20, 2022

Year C: The Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany

Genesis 45:3-11, 15

Psalm 37:1-12, 41-42

1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-50

Luke 6:27-38

A Radically Different Way

For about as long as I can remember, I have been a careful follower of the news.

When I was a little kid, every weeknight my family and I watched the local news and then Walter Cronkite, who, at the end of each broadcast, told us, “And that’s the way it is.”

We always had our local newspaper delivered, and later I began to read other papers and newsmagazines, eager to learn as much as I could about what was happening in the world.

For a while I watched cable news but eventually decided that might not be such a good thing.

Like a lot of us, today I look at news websites and I get alerts on my phone, though, honestly, a lot of those don’t seem to merit the interruption.

And, I still subscribe to a couple of physical newspapers. Each morning I make my way down our driveway to pick up the little bag of papers that I read as I drink coffee and eat breakfast.

But, I confess that in recent years, I’ve been spending less time with the news sections of the paper. I mostly just skim those pages and move on to the crossword.

I guess that’s partly that’s because much of the newspaper is already stale – reporting news that I’ve already heard about online.

But, mostly I just quickly scan those pages because so much of the news from our own neck of the woods, and from across our country, and from around the world – so much of the news is grim and depressing. Reading about what’s going on just leaves me feeling mostly angry, frustrated, and sad.

For example, there is the crisis in Ukraine.

It’s such a familiar and discouraging story, isn’t it?

We live in a world with real problems and challenges that are too numerous to count: a virus still killing many thousands of people every day, people uprooted from their homelands desperately looking for safety and a new life, melting ice and thawing permafrost, an ever-widening gap between rich and poor.

I could go on.

And yet, some would choose war. In a world with so many real problems and challenges, some would choose to send servicemen and servicewomen and innocent civilians to injury and deaths. 

And for what? 

Oh, the usual: power, prestige, and a false sense of security.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I despair.

Are we stuck?

Is this how it will always be?

There has to be a different way, right?

In last Sunday’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we heard the beginning of what’s called the Sermon on the Plain.

Jesus comes down the mountain with the apostles, and he is surrounded by lots of people – the disciples and people eager for healing and hungry for good news – people who had come to Jesus from all over the place.

And Jesus begins by unveiling his vision of the Kingdom of God – it’s a downside-up kingdom where it’s the poor and the hungry who are blessed – a downside-up kingdom where the rich and the full and the laughing – well, they’ve already received their reward.

Now, before we continue with the story, let’s remember what life was like for those people gathered around Jesus on the plain.

Without the technology and medicine that we usually take for granted, and without the freedoms that we still enjoy, life in the first century was unimaginably hard. And, the Romans and their local puppet leaders made life even harder, draining the people’s wealth and always quick to brutally defend their power and prestige.

So, Luke doesn’t tell us, but I’m guessing that at first Jesus’ downside-up vision must have sounded pretty good to a crowd filled with poor, hungry, and sorrowful people.

I imagine some of them nodding their approval and some calling out, “That’s right, Jesus, you tell ‘em.”

And now today we pick up right where we left off last week.

Jesus goes on to describe how we are to behave in this downside-up Kingdom of God.

We are to love our enemies, do good to those who hate us, bless those who curse us, pray for those who abuse us.

If anyone strikes us, we are to turn the other cheek.

If someone takes our coat, we are to give our shirt.

We are to give to everyone who begs of us.

We are not to judge and condemn, but forgive.

We are to do to others as we would have them do to us.

At this point, I imagine the crowd that had first been so excited about Jesus’ vision now begins to have serious doubts. I imagine confused looks and angry whispers.

“Wait a second, we’re supposed to love the Romans and their cronies?”

“You want us to just let them take advantage of us?”

“And then you want us to forgive them?”

And, I imagine that at least some people began to drift away, began to turn away from Jesus, shocked, disappointed, discouraged by the radically different – even, let’s admit it, extreme – way of Jesus.

You can see why at the start the Jesus Movement was pretty small – and you can see why over the centuries the Church has tended to water down much of this very challenging message.

So what about us?

Well, before I get into the heart of what I want to say, I want to mention that Jesus’ call to turn the other cheek does not mean that people who are being abused should just keep taking it. The gospel is a message of love and there is nothing loving about abuse or enduring abuse.

That came up during our Wednesday Bible Study and since there is an epidemic of abuse in our country, I want to be clear about that.

So what about this radical way of Jesus?

Well, not to repeat myself, but first of all, none of what Jesus requires of us is remotely possible without God’s help.

So that’s where we begin.

And second, Jesus does indeed present us with a radical way – it’s a radical way of extreme love, extreme forgiveness, and extreme generosity.

But, stop and think about it: is the way of Jesus any more radical than the way of the world?

Is Jesus’ way of extreme love any more radical than the way of the world – the way of fearing or even hating people because of how they look or where they come from – the way of sacrificing men and women in uniform and innocent civilians, all so leaders can boost their power and prestige and false sense of security?

Is Jesus’ way of extreme forgiveness any more radical than the way of the world – the way of judging people based solely on the worst thing that they’ve ever done, the way of carrying grievances for years or even generations, the way of settling scores with gunfire, leaving bloodstained streets in places like Baltimore?

Is Jesus’ way of extreme generosity any more radical than the way of the world – the way of piling up wealth and possessions, more than could ever be needed or used or maybe even enjoyed in a lifetime, while so many others go without – and, in the process, destroying our fragile planet?

We are so used reading about it in newspapers and seeing it on the news that maybe we don’t see just how radical the way of the world really is.

Echoing Cronkite, we think, “That’s the way it is.” 

But that’s not the way it has to be.

In the downside-up kingdom of God, Jesus offers us a radically different, and infinitely more life-giving, way.

Now, let’s face it - we’re not going to get to perfect love, forgiveness, and generosity – not in this life, anyway.

No, as someone said in our Bible Study, the way of Jesus is a journey – a journey we take together.

So, with God’s help, let’s continue journeying on the radical way of Jesus, together.

Amen.

With God's Help

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills

February 13, 2022

Year C: The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Psalm 1

1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

With God’s Help 

Have I mentioned to you that I really love baptizing people?

I know, it’s only been six months and I’m already repeating myself!

But it’s true.

And not only do I love baptizing people, I also appreciate the opportunity to prepare people for Baptism, or, more often, to prepare parents for the Baptism of their children.

During our prep sessions, I always point out that in Baptism we make some big promises.

We promise to keep gathering together for prayer and Communion – to resist evil and to repent and ask forgiveness when we mess up – to proclaim the Good News by word and example - to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self – to strive for justice and peace among all people.

Sometimes, after we go through these pretty heavy promises, the parents look at me with kind of strange expressions – maybe a little embarrassed or uncertain, maybe for the first time realizing just what they got signed up for when they were baptized, and maybe now realizing just what they are getting their child signed up for!

It’s then that I point out that there’s no way that we can keep these promises on our own.

The promise is always, “I will, with God’s help.”

We can only dare to make make these big promises because we rely on God’s help.

Since, in the words of today’s opening prayer “In our weakness we can do nothing good without” God, the promise is always, “I will, with God’s help.”

Today’s Old Testament lesson comes from the Prophet Jeremiah.

Jeremiah lived back in the 600s and 500s BC, back when the Kingdom of Judah was defeated by the Babylonians, who destroyed the city of Jerusalem, including Solomon’s Temple, and sent many of the people into exile.

We talked a little about this history just a few weeks ago, when we heard about the homecoming, about Nehemiah rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and Ezra reading the Word of God for six hours, as the people wept.

But, for Jeremiah and his contemporaries, that homecoming was still far in the future, just a hope or perhaps a matter of faith.

No, Jeremiah and his contemporaries lived in a time of defeat, destruction, and exile, and they wondered how and why this calamity could have befallen them.

How could God have allowed God’s people to be defeated and humiliated, to be dragged into exile?

Well, in today’s lesson we hear part of God’s answer, as God speaks through the Prophet Jeremiah: 

“Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals…whose hearts turn away from the Lord…They shall live in parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land.”

But on the other hand:

“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord…they shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream…”

Speaking through Jeremiah, God warns us that calamity befalls us when we turn away from the Lord and put our trust in idols – and the biggest idol of all is self-reliance – our biggest woes come from thinking that we can accomplish anything good without God’s help.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Luke, we hear the beginning of what’s called the Sermon on the Plain.

Jesus has been up on the mountain with the apostles, and now he comes down to the plain.

The apostles and other disciples, along with others who had come for teaching and healing, they all gather around.

And, at the start of the Sermon on the Plain, Jesus unveils his vision of God’s kingdom – it’s a downside-up kingdom where the poor and the hungry and the mournful are blessed.

Jesus unveils his vision of God’s kingdom – it’s a downside-up kingdom where the rich and the full and the laughing and the highly regarded – well, bad news, they’ve already received their reward. 

So, a couple of things about this passage:

First, there is no question that Jesus cares about the poor and the hungry and the sorrowful – the people today who can’t pay their bills and face bankruptcy and eviction.

Jesus cares about the people without homes, the people who huddle over heating grates downtown to keep warm - the people who rely on places like Paul’s Place and the Community Crisis Center to stay fed.

And Jesus cares about the people who are overwhelmed with sorrow at life’s many losses, the people broken by so much fear and dread of the future.

Jesus cares about them all, and promises that they will be blessed, that they will be welcomed and fed and comforted in God’s kingdom – that, in fact, the blessing has already begun.

But, there’s something else about the poor, the hungry, and the sorrowful: 

They know from hard experience that self-reliance is not enough.

They know that they need more than bootstraps, that they need community – and, in my experience, they usually know that they need God most of all.

And, as for us rich people, well, don’t worry, Jesus cares about us, too, but Jesus also very much cares about how we care for the poor, the hungry, and the sorrowful - how we share our many blessings.

But, on a deeper, less obvious level, the rich keep themselves – we keep ourselves – out of the kingdom because too often we really do put our ultimate trust in idols – money, power, pedigree, education, and the biggest idol of them all: self-reliance.

We forget – or maybe don’t really want to believe – that we can only accomplish anything good with God’s help.

And, in case you’re wondering, I am pointing my finger right at me.

Most of you have heard enough of my sermons by now to know that I’m often pushing us to do stuff and, hopefully, also celebrating all that we do.

But, on more early Sunday mornings than I want to admit, I have gotten to the final edit of my sermons and realized that, yes, once again, I had forgotten to mention that it’s only with God’s help that we can do anything good.

More often than I want to admit, I’ve gone back through my sermons and added those three words that change everything:

With God’s help.

So, here is the wonderful truth, St. Thomas’:

With God’s help, we are once again preparing delicious casseroles for the hungry guests at Paul’s Place.

With God’s help, children are lovingly nurtured in our preschool.

With God’s help, Wanda and our quartet offer beautiful music.

With God’s help, we are extending help and hospitality to Afghan refugees.

With God’s help, we are having a homecoming here at St. Thomas’, welcoming back people returning from “exile” and greeting people who are finding a new spiritual home with us.

With God’s help, we are even more of a servant church.

So, all of us, whether we’re feeling poor or rich, whether we’re grieving or laughing, let’s remember our total dependence on God.

And, with God’s help, when we love and give and serve as generously as we can, then we are both blessed and blessing, right here and now in the downside-up kingdom of God.

May it be so.

Amen.

Our Brother Sam

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 31, 2022

The Feast of Samuel Shoemaker, Priest

Isaiah 51:17-52:1

Psalm 130

1 Corinthians 5:6-8

Luke 4:40-40

Our Brother Sam

Although our celebration is not as grand as I had hoped, I’m glad that we can be together to honor our own local Episcopal “saint,” Samuel Shoemaker.

As you all know only too well, I’ve gotten very interested in Shoemaker – both because of his deep connections to our church and also because I think of him as a prophet, one who has a lot to say about the challenges and opportunities of today.

Shoemaker was born on December 27, 1893 in a rented house in Baltimore City.

He was baptized here at St. Thomas’ on February 25, 1894.

When he was two years old, his family moved from the city to the Shoemaker estate, Burnside, not far from here.

He enjoyed a privileged upbringing in that beautiful setting.

When he was 14 years old he was uprooted from that rather sheltered life and sent to St. George’s School in Newport RI, which was challenging for him, culturally and socially.

Later, he followed in his father’s footsteps to Princeton.

It was while he was at Princeton that Shoemaker met Helen Smith, who became his wife and partner in ministry, and is also an important figure in her own right.

  It was also at Princeton where Shoemaker became interested in the topics that would shape the rest of his life and ministry:

Personal evangelism: bringing the Good News to the world, one person at a time.

Missionary work: bringing the Good News both to faraway places and also to our own neighborhood.

And, ecumenicalism: working to minimize differences among Christian denominations, moving toward Christian unity that would help us share the Good News more convincingly and effectively.

After Princeton, Shoemaker went to China where he started a branch of the YMCA and taught in the “Princeton-in China” program. It was in China that he met Frank Buchman, founder of the “First Century Christian Fellowship,” later known as the Oxford Group.

As you can tell by its name, Buchman and his followers wanted and worked for a spiritual reawakening, a return to the fervor of the early Church, focusing on passionate evangelism and small group ministry.

Buchman taught what he called the “Four Absolutes” – absolute honesty, absolute purity, absolute unselfishness, and absolute love.

Those “absolutes” would become a theme that ran through Shoemaker’s entire ministry – and would help shape AA.

After returning from China, Shoemaker attended the General Theological Seminary in New York City. (He deliberately chose General because its Anglo-Catholicism was quite different from his own evangelical “Low Church” sensibility.) He was ordained a priest on June 11, 1921 and celebrated his first Service of Holy Communion the following day, right here at St Thomas’.

Not long after, with only brief ordained experience, he was called to serve as Rector of Calvary Church in New York – near Gramercy Park which had been a well-to-do area and is again now, but by Shoemaker’s time the neighborhood had declined and the church was struggling.

Well, the new rector threw himself into his work, and Calvary Church grew a great deal.

He famously greeted people at the church door and also held outdoor services in Madison Square Park.

He built Calvary Mission, which could house up to 57 homeless men and served many thousands of meals – and where the Oxford Group hosted meetings for “drunks.”

I’ll come back to that in a minute.

In 1926, Shoemaker established “Faith at Work”  - a ministry for lay people who would gather each week and share how they had evangelized in their everyday life, how they had been good Christians at work.

An amazing example of “Faith at Work” that Shoemaker often recounted was Ralston C. Young, the “Red Cap Preacher” of Grand Central Station.

Three times a week, Young – who was a “red cap,” a porter - hosted a lunchtime service in a railroad car on Track 13 of the station. These services attracted an economically and, unusual for the time, racially diverse congregation.

Faith at Work.

The Oxford Group was always somewhat controversial and over time it changed, losing some of its Christian focus, and eventually Shoemaker broke with Buchman – although the basic ideas of the Oxford Group continued to influence Shoemaker, and AA.

So, Sam Shoemaker and AA is a complicated topic.

But in a nutshell, both Bill W. and Dr. Bob, the future founders of AA, visited Calvary Mission in 1934 and attended Oxford Group meetings there.

After finally getting sober, Bill W. made it his life’s mission to both stay sober and to help other alcoholics – and he attempted to do that by following one of the key Oxford Group and Shoemaker ideas: the best way to hold onto something is to give it away.

There was a rift between Shoemaker and Bill W. in the early days of AA, but eventually they patched it up and Shoemaker, although not sober himself, spent the rest of his life as an avid and vocal supporter of the group.

Shoemaker was the primary spiritual influence on the development of the Twelve Steps, especially the ideas of self-examination, acknowledgement of character defects, restitution for harm done, and helping others achieve sobriety. 

Shoemaker himself was modest about his role in the Twelve Steps, giving credit to God for inspiring Bill W., but there’s no doubt that Bill was deeply influenced by what he had learned from Shoemaker.

After 25 years at Calvary Church New York, Shoemaker accepted the call to serve as Rector of Calvary Church in Pittsburgh.

There he started the “Pittsburgh Experiment,” which aimed to make Pittsburgh as famous for God as it was for steel.

The “Experiment,” which still exists, was essentially the same idea as “Faith at Work” – helping and encouraging people to live out their faith and share their faith in their everyday lives.

Throughout his life and ministry, Shoemaker was tireless. In addition to his pastoral duties, he conducted many thousands of one-on-one meetings, hosted radio programs, conducted preaching tours, and wrote 28 books.

Whenever I think about him, I feel like a total slacker who should be doing a whole lot more!

He was probably the best-known Episcopal priest of his day, his influence reaching far beyond our church.

In fact, Billy Graham once said that no one “in our generation has made a greater impact for God on the Christian world, than did Samuel Shoemaker.”

That’s quite a statement, quite a legacy, isn’t it?

Shoemaker’s health began to fail and in 1962 he retired to Burnside, but continued to write and broadcast until his death, in 1963.

As you know he was buried here, joined by his beloved wife Helen, thirty years later.

So, what does Shoemaker’s life and work say to us here today?

A lot, I think, but I’m going just highlight three points.

First, just like in his day, we need to bridge the gap between what we say and do here in church and what we say and do out there in the world.

We have to find ways to live our faith at work, at school, at the club, at the train station, in the supermarket, on the Internet - everywhere.

Second, we can no longer assume that people are just going to find us on their own and come to church. We need to go out and meet people and share our story and personally invite them to join us.

I know that’s hard for most of us, but as Shoemaker said over and over, there is just no substitute for personal Christian witness.

Finally, we need to be who we say we are – just like Shoemaker’s Calvary Mission, we must really be a servant church, offering God’s love to people in need, welcoming them as best we can, as if we were welcoming Christ himself.

And, with God’s help, when we put our faith to work, there is no limit to the difference we can make, no limit to the number of lives we can touch.

Just look at what our brother Sam was able to accomplish! 

Amen.

Home Can Be a Painful Place

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 30, 2022

Year C: The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Luke 4:21-30

Home Can Be a Painful Place

Because of the many horrifically tragic cases of abuse that have happened in churches, all clergy and other employees, lay leaders, and volunteers – especially those who work with kids - are required to participate in various trainings designed to help us spot the signs when something wrong is going on, and to know how we should respond.

These trainings are both necessary and depressing, but over the years they’ve become sort of routine – just another unfortunate thing that we have to do in this fallen and broken world of ours.

But, last Saturday I participated in a required training that was a new one for me.

It was specifically focused on domestic violence.

Unfortunately, this kind of at-home abuse - both physical and emotional - is more widespread than we might hope or suppose – yet another epidemic in a land that seems to be just full of them.

But, even if the trouble doesn’t sink to the level of abuse, we know that all too often home can be a painful place.

One of the worst flaws of human nature is that we are very good at hurting the people closest to us.

We know their histories and insecurities, their hopes and fears.

And, in a moment of anger or frustration or tiredness, we can so easily wound the people we love - with a cutting remark or a quick insult, or even just with a withering or disgusted look.

And the wounds inflicted by those closest to us are the hardest to heal, aren’t they?

Those deep scars remind us of betrayal, leaving us forever unsure of just where we stand.

Last week I talked about the joy of homecomings, but, sad to say, it’s also often true that home can be a painful place.

Last Sunday we heard how Jesus had been traveling throughout Galilee, teaching and healing.

It seems that Jesus’ good words and amazing deeds had made a wonderful impression on the people. 

Jesus “was praised by everyone,” Luke tells us.

And then after his successful tour, Jesus returns home to Nazareth.

On the Sabbath, like all pious Jews then and now, Jesus attends synagogue. There, surrounded by people he had probably known forever – his family and neighbors - Jesus recites a passage from the Prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor…”

After he’s finished, while everyone in the synagogue looked at him in silent anticipation, Jesus says:

“Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

And that’s where we pick up today.

Before I get to the disturbing and kind of confusing second half of this story, let’s remember what the gospels are and are not.

Although they contain history and biography, the gospels are not exactly histories or biographies.

No, they were written to tell the story of Jesus in ways that would help us to know and understand what is most important about his life and message. The gospels were written so that we could and would place our trust in Jesus.

As the Evangelist John writes near the end of his gospel:

“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

So, because the four evangelists have a somewhat narrow focus, there is a lot about Jesus’ life that we just don’t know, including the long stretch of time from his infancy to when he presents himself to John for baptism.

I often wonder about those years, about Jesus’ childhood and young adulthood in Nazareth.

Of course, we do know about the goodness of Mary and Joseph – and we can be sure that their love and faithfulness and courage shaped the man Jesus became.

But then there’s everybody else in that small town.

I wonder about the rest of his family and his neighbors, the people who would have heard the rumors about the strange circumstances of his conception and birth, the people who might have gleefully gossiped about this boy who was “Joseph’s son.”

Later, we know that Jesus’ relatives did not support his ministry – in fact, they wanted to restrain him and bring him back home.

Home can be a painful place.

And so I wonder how this sense of being an “outsider” affected Jesus.

And I wonder if Jesus’ own experiences at home made him even more sensitive to the plight of other outsiders: the lepers, the prostitutes, the tax collectors.

And might Jesus’ own painful experiences at home help to explain what happened on that Sabbath day in the Nazareth synagogue?

Because, as you might have noticed, it’s Jesus who goes on the offensive - maybe because his divinity gave him the power to read the minds of his family and neighbors or, more likely, it’s simply that he knows these people. Jesus knows that they are not going to accept his message. They are not going to believe that the Scripture is in fact fulfilled in and through him.

And so, Jesus makes the first move, anticipating that, like prophets before him, he will not be accepted in his hometown.

And then Jesus reaches back into Israel’s past, reminding everybody of times when it was the outsiders who were blessed by God.

Well, that does it.

The people of Nazareth have heard enough. Enraged, they drive Jesus out of the synagogue, wanting to be done with him once and for all.

Home can be a painful place.

So, that’s a really sad ending for a Sabbath that had begun with so much anticipation.

There’s no doubt that Luke includes this incident in his Jesus story because he wants us to know that Jesus was rejected by lots of people, including by at least some of the people closest to him.

And we know that later, Jesus’ chosen family – his disciples – they will mostly deny him and abandon him, too.

And, as we know, people today continue to reject Jesus’ message of good news for the poor and liberation of the captive.

We know all that, but even more important, this story gives us a painful but also poignant glimpse of Jesus our brother.

In this memory from his hometown synagogue, we see Jesus our brother – Jesus who knows the pain of being an outsider – Jesus who knows what it feels like to be rejected, to be hurt by the people closest to him.

But in this sad story there is good news for us:

In our hard moments when we feel like outsiders – when we are rejected – when we are hurt by people close to us – we can pray to Jesus with confidence – we can take Communion with confidence – and receive comfort and healing from a Lord who is not above our suffering but who really knows what it feels like, a God who who really gets it.

Jesus knows that home can be a painful place – which is good news for us.

Amen. 

Homecoming

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 23, 2022

Year C: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

Homecoming

As we continue working on the possibility of welcoming Afghan refugees here to St. Thomas’, I’ve been reflecting on what it must be like to flee one’s homeland.

What must it be like to have no choice but to seek refuge in a faraway land where people have different customs and speak a foreign language?

What must it be like to be in exile?

Have our Afghan sisters and brothers reluctantly said goodbye to their native land forever, resigning themselves to their fate?

Or, do they still harbor some small hope for a return – holding onto a dream that they will one day hear the familiar sounds and smell the comforting smells of home? 

What must it be like to be in exile?

It just so happens that the experience of exile and return forms the backdrop of today’s Old Testament lesson from the Book of Nehemiah.

In the Sixth Century BC, the Babylonian Empire defeated the Kingdom of Judah. The Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem, including Solomon’s Temple, and drove a large number of Judeans into exile in Babylon.

Decades later, some Judeans were able to return to their wrecked homeland, a place where many of them, probably most of them, had never been.

All they knew were the homesick stories told by parents and grandparents.

Back in their homeland, under the leadership of Nehemiah, they rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem.

That was difficult and dangerous work, but even more challenging was the spiritual rebuilding that was required after all that time away, after living for so long among people with different customs and different gods.

We heard the beginning of that spiritual rebuilding in today’s lesson.

With the walls of the old city restored, the people ask to hear the word of God.

Hungry for God’s word, the people – men and women – all stand for six hours as Ezra, a scribe and a priest, reads the Scripture to them.

We’re told that priests make their way around the crowd, translating and explaining the unfamiliar words, helping to make sense of the old stories.

And how do the people respond?

Well, they weep.

They weep - maybe because they’ve never heard these words before, or maybe not for a long time.

They weep – maybe because they had nearly forgotten God, nearly forgotten God’s love and faithfulness.

They weep - maybe because they are just overcome by it all – overwhelmed to be back home.

That long ago day in Jerusalem, exile had finally ended.

The people had come back home, free at last.

And then in today’s gospel lesson we hear about another homecoming.

Luke tells us that Jesus has been busy teaching in the synagogues of his Galilean homeland, where he has been making a most favorable impression.

Jesus was praised by everyone, Luke says.

And now, after his successful tour, Jesus is back in his hometown of Nazareth.

And, like all pious Jews then and now, on the Sabbath Jesus is in the synagogue. 

Jesus stands to read the Scripture. In this case, it’s some powerful words from the Prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

I can imagine the silence and anticipation in the synagogue as Jesus recites Isaiah’s words – silence and anticipation because, yes, the congregation esteems the prophet’s words but also because the people of Nazareth have heard that Jesus, one of their own, son of Joseph and Mary, has been teaching and wowing the crowds in other synagogues, in other towns, and they wonder what will happen here at home.

And then, as “the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him,” Jesus speaks for himself.

Jesus speaks about himself:

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Without the people of Nazareth at first realizing it, Jesus has used Isaiah’s words to announce his mission.

Jesus is bringing good news to the poor. 

Jesus is releasing people enslaved by the world’s forces of wickedness, restoring vision to the sightless, freeing the downtrodden, freeing them at last.

And through the centuries it has been the work of Christians to continue and extend Jesus’ mission.

In our own relatively recent history, it’s hard to think of someone who took that mission more seriously – someone who lived that mission more courageously – someone who sacrificed more for that mission - than Martin Luther King, Jr.

Last week was his birthday, of course, and every year around Martin Luther King Day he is often watered down to just a kind man who had a very nice dream.

But, of course, Dr. King was much more than a dreamer.

He made Jesus’ mission his own mission, announcing good news to the poor.

Remember, on the last day of his life, he was in Memphis as part of his Poor People’s Campaign, supporting sanitation workers who were on strike, protesting unfair wages and treatment.

Yes, like Ezra long ago, and our friend Samuel Shoemaker, and so many other holy women and men through the ages, and like Jesus most of all, Martin Luther King proclaimed God’s liberating word.

At the start of my sermon I asked, what must it be like to be in exile?

But, you know, in a lot of ways we are living in a time of exile.

The pandemic is definitely part of it, but just a part.

People all around us are living in a kind of exile – exiled from others, or at least exiled from people with different backgrounds and ideas.

People all around us are exiled from faith, exiled from the old stories that inspired and sustained our ancestors, exiled from the liberating word of God that too often is sort of kept under lock and key in churches and synagogues, exiled from the word of God that is too often distorted into a cruel message of hate. 

But, I am convinced that just like the long ago people of Judah, people today really hunger for the word of God, really want to know that there is still good news for the poor and the imprisoned.

And, if they really heard the word of God – maybe if we really heard the word of God - well, there just might be a whole lot of weeping.

This exile has gone on for a long time, but I see signs that our spiritual rebuilding is underway.

Spiritual rebuilding is welcoming absolutely everyone who walks through our doors or who tunes in on YouTube. 

Spiritual rebuilding is lovingly giving truckloads of help to the folks at Paul’s Place and the Community Crisis Center.

Spiritual rebuilding is bringing the word of God to anyone who zooms into a Bible Study or who joins us at noon on Wednesdays.

Spiritual rebuilding is working hard to open our church home to exiles from a faraway, ruined land – people who may very well weep at the beauty of our welcome.

So, right here and right now:

Exile is ending.

Spiritual rebuilding is underway.

The homecoming has begun.

Amen.

A Holy Refilling

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 16, 2022

Year C: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 62:1-5

Psalm 36:5-10

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

A Holy Refilling

Well, as some of you know by now, this week I finally had to face reality and postpone the events we had scheduled at the end of the month to honor Samuel Shoemaker. 

We have rescheduled for the end of April when, hopefully, the pandemic will have eased and we can more safely gather together.

No surprise, at first I was very disappointed but I’ve also recognized that it would be much, much better to be able to attend an event about recovery and healing without worrying about catching a life-threatening illness!

The other day, just before I decided to postpone it, someone asked me why I am so excited about this program, why I’m so interested in Shoemaker.

Most of you have heard some of the reasons: I think it’s really cool that he grew up here and was baptized here and celebrated his first Holy Communion as a priest here.

And, it’s an honor that an Episcopal saint rests in our cemetery.

Although, like all of us, he was complex and imperfect, I’m in awe that his contributions to the Twelve Steps have saved countless lives – and I also think that many of his other insights about faith and the church have a lot to say to our own time and place.

But, there’s something else, too.

I have a very close friend and mentor, a priest, who is a recovering alcoholic.

I didn’t know him back in his drinking days but the bottom line was that eventually alcoholism took over his life. Eventually he lost his church and some of his family. He was out of the church for a number of years while he attended AA meetings and worked on his recovery.

By the time I met him that was all in the past, but of course it continued to shape him and his priesthood.

Because he had lost so much, and also because he knew God’s grace – because he had been refilled by Jesus - he was a humble person, willing to show us his scars, willing to say that he was just another guy on the road, willing to reach out his hand to me and many others and say, let’s walk together.

And the experience of meeting him and learning from him changed my life, and eventually led me here, to you.

And none of it would have happened without AA.

Which means none of it would have happened without Samuel Shoemaker.

So, you know, I kind of feel like I owe him a lot.

Over the past few Sundays we have been hearing about a series of epiphanies – manifestations of God’s presence and power.

First was the Epiphany itself, when the Magi followed the star to the newborn King – a sign that Jesus is King not just for Israel but for the whole world.

And then last week we heard the story of Jesus’ baptism. This time, at least the way Luke tells the story, the epiphany is at first just for Jesus.

The heavens open and the Spirit descends like a dove. 

And Jesus hears the voice from heaven say, “You are my Son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

And now in today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we heard our third epiphany – our third manifestation of God’s presence and power.

But, this time the epiphany flows directly from Jesus himself.

The setting is a wedding at a place called Cana – a wedding attended by Jesus, his mother, and his disciples.

Then, as now, weddings were very important events. 

In this case, wedding celebrations would last for days, with lots of guests coming and going. 

The wedding was a celebration for the couple, yes, but also a party for the whole community.

Many of us no longer value or practice hospitality as much as we used to, but in much of the world and certainly in ancient times, hospitality was very important.

So, for the horrified wedding hosts at Cana it would have required humility to admit that the wine had run out.

And, for the guests the last of the wine would have been a big disappointment.

  It sure must have seemed like the party was over.

Jesus’ mother tells him this unfortunate news, but Jesus seems to dismiss her.

“Woman, what concern is that to you and me? My hour is not yet come.”

But, for whatever reason, Jesus’ mother trusts that her son is going to do something about this problem.

“Do whatever he tells you,” she says to the servants.

And what Jesus tells the servants must have sounded strange indeed: fill the six giant jars – each holding twenty or thirty gallons – fill them with water – fill them to the brim.

Well, you know the rest: the water is transformed into wine – and not just any wine but the best wine – the jars are overflowing – and the party is just getting started.

A holy refilling.

John never describes Jesus’ wonder works as “miracles.” 

Instead, for John, turning the water into wine, and all of Jesus’ other wonder works are signs - signs pointing to a deeper truth.

The wine is not the point of this story.

No, the point is that when we’re feeling empty, when it feels like the party is over – Jesus offers us a holy refilling.

During a week when I’ve been thinking about a story in which wine plays a starring part, I also read an interesting and enlightening book called Why Can’t Church Be More Like an AA Meeting?

It’s a question that I’ve asked myself.

I’ve seen the commitment that AA members like my friend have to the program, how they just don’t miss meetings, no matter what.

And, let’s be honest, church does not seem to inspire that same kind of urgency in very many people.

Anyway, the author suggests that one of the reasons why church can’t be like an AA meeting, or at least why it usually isn’t, is because church people are not too keen on showing vulnerability and humility – that we like to present ourselves as having our act together – that we’re here not so much for ourselves but to pray for those poor “other” people who don’t have their act together like we do.

I confess that before I knew you, I wondered if that’s what you were like.

But then I started getting to know members of the Search Committee and I was touched by their willingness to admit that the church they love so much was facing many challenges – people drifting away to other churches or no church at all, the absence of children from our Sunday School – and a pandemic that just won’t quit.

There were unsettling doubts about the future of this old and holy place.

For some of you, maybe it seemed like the wine was beginning to run out, that the party was winding down.

So, really more than anything else, it was your humility that drew me here, convinced me to accept your invitation to walk the road together.

Now, while it is true that all of the challenges I mentioned remain, I see a holy refilling taking place here at St. Thomas’.

On Monday evening, an online Bible Study that used to attract just a handful of parishioners was bursting at the virtual seams with 21 participants, including a significant number of people new to our church.

And, an idea that started with one parishioner wondering if we might use an empty house on our property to offer hospitality to Afghan refugees has gathered momentum, attracting other parishioners who know what’s needed to fix an old building and others who are skilled at navigating bureaucracy.

And, some people who had drifted away have been returning home and others are discovering us for the first time – finding a place where all are welcome, a church where having your act together is definitely not a requirement.

I believe that all of this and more is happening because of humility.

It’s the same humility that led my friend to attend his first AA meeting – the same humility that led horrified hosts at a long ago wedding to face the fact that the wine was running out.

It’s the same humility that gives Jesus all the room he needs to get to work, giving us a holy refilling.

So, my friends, here’s the good news: the party that began in 1742 is just getting started.

Amen.