Yoked, Together

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 8, 2023

Year A, Proper 9: The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

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

Psalm 45:11-18

Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Yoked, Together

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know this. You know this. 

We know this from hard experience.

And St. Paul knew it, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are yoked, together, with Christ.

Amen. 

Trust

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 2, 2023

Year A, Proper 8: The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 22:1-14

Psalm 13

Romans 6:12-23

Matthew 10:40-42

Trust

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

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

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

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

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

I admit that math was always a perennial problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a holy trust exercise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We endure disappointments, betrayals, estrangements, and grief.

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

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

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

But, like Abraham we know God.

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

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

And so, we can trust God.

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Drawing the Circle Wider

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 11, 2023

Year A, Proper 5: The Second Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 12:1-9

Psalm 33:1-12

Romans 4:13-25

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

Drawing the Circle Wider

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

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

God is Community.

God is a Community of Love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, God still takes the risk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How can we be an even more generous servant church?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grace to risk something big for some thing good;

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

Amen.

The Parable of the Pollinator Garden

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

June 4, 2023

Year A: The First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

Psalm 8

2 Corinthians 13:11-13

Matthew 28:16-20

The Parable of the Pollinator Garden

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

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

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

It’s pretty amazing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is the First Sunday after Pentecost – Trinity Sunday.

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

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

That is a fool’s errand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Parable of the Pollinator Garden.

Amen.

The Final Frontier

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 28, 2023

Year A: The Day of Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21

Psalm 104:25-35, 37

1 Corinthians 12:3b-13

John 20:19-23

The Final Frontier

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

        Today we arrive at the fiftieth day after Easter – the great feast of Pentecost - the day when we remember and celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit – God at work in the world and in the Church - the gift that transformed fearful disciples into bold apostles – the gift that propelled Jesus’ friends out of hiding and into the streets – out into the world – proclaiming the best news of all time in a language that everybody could understand:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

You may have noticed that today’s lessons actually give us two Pentecost stories.

In addition to the loud and fiery account in the Acts of the Apostles, there’s also the quieter but no less powerful passage I just read from the Gospel of John.

In John’s telling, Easter and Pentecost are essentially one event: the Risen Christ appears to the frightened disciples and breathes the Holy Spirit on them – giving them power and authority and, most of all, courage to leave fear behind and head out into the world proclaiming the Good News:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Rather than being troubled by the apparent contradictions, I think it’s great that we have these two Pentecost stories – they tell us something important about the Holy Spirit:

The Spirit sometimes acts in big and loud ways – and sometimes the Spirit acts with just a whisper.

But in both cases, the Spirit propels us out into the world, out to the frontier.

Many of the first disciples fanned out, sharing the Good News – an ancient tradition claims that our own patron, the Apostle Thomas, brought the Gospel all the way to India – and we know that Peter and Paul made it to Rome where they sacrificed their lives for Jesus.

And Christians have been bringing the Gospel to the frontier ever since.

Here at St. Thomas’, this year it felt like Pentecost arrived a few days early.

First, on Wednesday, we celebrated the Feast of Jackson Kemper, the Episcopal Church’s first Missionary Bishop, a man who was propelled by the Holy Spirit to bring the gospel to what was then the American frontier and what is today the Midwest. 

For reasons you’ll understand in a moment, Kemper makes me feel like a total slacker.

Jackson Kemper was born in Upstate New York in 1789, was baptized at Trinity Church Wall Street, graduated from what was then Columbia College (He was the valedictorian) and then was ordained a priest at age 23.

From just about the start, he was a missionary – first to western Pennsylvania and Virginia, and eastern Ohio.

After he was elected Missionary Bishop in 1835, the Holy Spirit propelled Kemper even farther afield – to Indiana, Missouri, Wisconsin, Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, and Minnesota.

For years he traveled throughout the West. He had to bring everything he needed, and endured all sorts of discomforts and challenges.

Bishop Kemper managed to organize six dioceses, consecrated nearly 100 churches, confirmed about 10,000 people, and ordained more than 200 priests and deacons to serve all those newborn churches.

He was way ahead of his time in encouraging lay ministry. 

Kemper was especially interested in sharing the Gospel with Native Americans, encouraging the translation of the Bible into local languages, and even lifting up indigenous people for ministry.

Oh, and he founded a seminary in Wisconsin called Nashotah House, which is still in operation.

After Kemper “retired” from missionary work, he was elected Bishop of Wisconsin and he served in that role until his death in 1870, at the age of 80.

I can’t talk about Kemper and his work without mentioning the complicated and often painful and tragic history of the Church and Native Americans: other Christian missionaries – including Episcopalians - often disrespected local culture and the boarding schools they founded were frequently sites of unspeakable abuse. 

But, I wanted to share with you the story of Bishop Kemper because, just like the Holy Spirit propelled the first disciples to the frontier, the Holy Spirit propelled Jackson Kemper to the frontier.

And, today, I believe the Holy Spirit is propelling us to the frontier – sometimes loudly and sometimes quietly.  

But today the frontier is not Wisconsin – the frontier is not necessarily someplace far away.

No, today the frontier – the final frontier, you might say – is right next door, or across the street, or the office down the hall.

Although I failed in my attempts to line up a Baptism for today, we did have a most joyful Baptism last week, when, young Charles Joseph Worthington was plunged into the depths and rose again to begin his new life with Christ.

As we do at every Baptism, we renewed our Baptismal Covenant – including our promise, with God’s help, to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.

And we do that not in some far off place but right here and now – in our daily lives – at frontier posts like school, work, the club, the supermarket, or even Blakehurst.

On the Feast of Jackson Kemper it felt like Pentecost had arrived early – and it also felt like an early Pentecost last Sunday evening when Wanda, along with just about the whole choir and I, went to Blakehurst – a local retirement community – to offer a Vespers service.

Now, when this was first proposed months ago, I thought, great idea!

After all, I love an active church!

But, last Sunday we had a very full day – the Baptism, honoring graduates and our lay leaders, Rogation Sunday walking tours of the campus, our usual three services.

I managed to squeeze in only a very abbreviated Sunday afternoon nap.

And so, by the time I was driving over to Blakehurst for our 7:30 pm service, I was tired and wondering how this was going to go. I was having second thoughts about the whole thing.

I’m no Jackson Kemper!

But then, our choir members began to arrive – and not just a few of them, as I had sort of expected – but almost everybody – they had had a long day, too – but they found the time and energy to head to the frontier and bring the Holy Spirit to about 30 of the residents who attended.

For the most part, these were people who can’t get to church any longer – and I loved watching them make their way into the meeting room and seeing their surprise that the choir was here – their wonder and delight that we had brought the beauty and love of God to them.

And their eyes lit up and their faces beamed as the choir began to sing – proclaiming the Good News in a language everybody could understand.

Oh yes, last week, Pentecost arrived early.

Despite our tiredness and uncertainty and maybe even nervousness, the Holy Spirit propelled us to the final frontier – just a short trip over to Blakehurst, where with people who might sometimes feel ignored or even forgotten, we proclaimed by word and example - and, most of all song - we proclaimed the Good News of God in Christ:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Holy Weaving

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 21, 2023

Rogation Sunday

Deuteronomy 11:10-15

Psalm 147:1-13

Romans 8:18-25

Mark 4:26-32

Holy Weaving

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

This past Thursday morning, a faithful little band of parishioners gathered in the Old School Building for Morning Prayer.

We do this every week, but this particular Thursday was different because, in our modest but beautiful way, we were observing one of the great feasts of the church year: Ascension Day.

Set forty days after Easter, on Ascension Day we remember that the Risen Christ entered heaven.

This is one part of our faith that troubles a lot of modern people – a line in the Creed that many of us try to say without giving it too much thought. After all, unlike people two thousand years ago, we have a pretty good idea of what’s up there.

On the other hand, over and over, science has shown that reality is way more complex and downright weirder than we had thought – in the universe things are not always as they seem, and there’s so much we just don’t know.

Anyway, setting aside our modern skepticism, the Ascension is both beautiful and important:

Our brother Jesus – not just his spirit, but his body – has entered heaven.

Among other things, the Ascension reminds us that the here and now – the physical world, all of it, very much including our flesh and blood, is of infinite and eternal value – beloved by God.

This should not come as news to us because God’s love for the world runs through our entire tradition.

At the beginning, God declared the creation to be good – not just good but very good.

And God sent Jesus into the world not to condemn the world but because God loves the world and wants to save it – all of it.

God wants to restore and renew the world – not just once but over and over again.

Many of us have experienced this holy restoration and renewal in our own lives – times when all hope seems to be lost and yet we find unexpected grace and strength and love.

And if we take the time to look around, we can see that God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation.

For example, you may remember that about a month ago there was a frightening and destructive wildfire over at Soldier’s Delight, a nature preserve not far from here. The fire forced neighbors to evacuate their homes for a time, a fire that required the skill and courage of many firefighters to extinguish.

There was a lot of initial sadness and concern about the loss of wildlife, but did you see what happened almost immediately? Native plants and grasses began to sprout. God’s renewal and restoration is now well underway.

Just one example of how God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation.

Today we are celebrating Rogation Sunday – the name comes from a Latin word meaning “to ask.” On Rogation days, we ask God to bless our land – and we get reminded that we are called not to rule over the earth but to care for it – to be good stewards of all that has been entrusted to us.

God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation.

And God invites us to assist with this holy weaving.

And, even when creation has taken a beating by our pollution and neglect, if we do our part as God’s assistant weavers, well, the results are just astonishing.

Like, just a couple of weeks ago, there was a story in the paper that otters have been seen frolicking in the increasingly clean Jones Falls, near Mt. Washington, within the Baltimore city limits.

Otters!

This wonderful return of the otters didn’t just happen, of course – it’s the result of people – including some of our people - fighting the good fight to clean the streams that flow into the falls, to address toxic runoff, to work as God’s assistant weavers, renewing and restoring creation.

The other day, I read about an amazing park in Berlin, Germany that perfectly illustrates this holy partnership between God and us. 

After a once busy rail yard was abandoned, hundreds of species of plants and animals, including many that were endangered, moved right in. This renewal on what must have been heavily polluted land was totally unplanned, which has made it biologically diverse and amazingly successful.

And now, people care for this spontaneous park. They’ve constructed elevated walkways so that visitors can enjoy the beauty of the park without disturbing the plants and animals that thrive there.

God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation. And God invites us to assist with this holy weaving.

In my nearly two years here, I seem to have developed a reputation as someone who likes the church to be busy.

I prefer “active,” but I’ll own that.

But when I first realized all that we had packed into today – Rogation Sunday, the Baptism of young Charles Joseph Worthington, the recognition of our graduates (over 20 of them!), and the opportunity for some of our lay leaders to add their signatures to the book that has been signed by leaders of this church stretching all the way back to the 1700’s, and this evening the choir and I are going to Blakehurst to offer a Vespers service – when I realized all that we had packed into today, well, even I thought that maybe we were overdoing it!

But as I reflected on all this wonderful activity, I thought, you know, there is a whole lot of holy weaving going on here at St. Thomas’.

The people of this church have always cared for this land but in recent years we’ve been even more intentional about looking at our environmental impact and taken steps - like planting trees - toward being better stewards – small steps, maybe, but we know that God specializes in starting as small as a mustard seed and growing something amazing.

Baptism is the sacrament of renewal. The way we do it here is very elegant and refined but make no mistake, in the water of Baptism, Charles will go down to the depths and rise again, starting out on a new life with Christ, invited by God to be an assistant weaver, and guided by all of us along the way.

And, whatever their age and no matter what degree they’ve earned, graduates are meant to use their learning not just to better themselves to but to serve others, doing their part, with God’s help, to weave back together what has been ripped apart by suffering, ignorance, and greed.

And music – does anything renew our hearts better than beautiful music sung by people with faith and love and so much talent?

And our leaders – we are incredibly blessed by generous, dedicated, and wise leaders – our leaders have signed up to do some serious weaving here at St. Thomas’ – weaving together our increasingly diverse strands, helping to create an even stronger fabric, strong enough to endure whatever the future may bring.

My goodness – this is a lot – but I hear God speaking through all of it.

Because God loves the world. 

God has woven restoration and renewal right into the fabric of creation. And God invites Charles, and all of us, to assist with this holy weaving.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

The Spirit of Truth Empowers Us to Do God's Will

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 14, 2023

Year A: The Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 17:22-31

Psalm 66:7-18

1 Peter 14:15-21

John 14:15-21

The Spirit of Truth Empowers Us to Do God’s Will

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Today is the Sixth Sunday of Easter – yes, it is still Easter – and in today’s gospel lesson we pick up right where we left off last week.

You may remember that last Sunday we looked back to Holy Week – back to the Last Supper – back to when Jesus gathered with his friends for what sure seemed like their last meal together.

Around the table, Jesus teaches a few final, most important, lessons – he washes the feet of his friends and says this is how it should be among them – among us – love one another, he commands.

He blesses the bread and the wine and says he will be with us each time we gather around the table, each time we remember him.

And, as we heard last week, Jesus promises that he will bring us to the place of reunion – and that we know the way to the place because Jesus himself is the Way.

And Jesus teaches that he and the Father are one – so when we see and know Jesus, we see and know God.

That must have been quite a lot to take in during that particular supper in Jerusalem, as the walls seemed to be closing in, and it felt like hope itself was about to be extinguished.

In today’s memory from the Last Supper, Jesus looks to the future – not the future we will share in the place of reunion – but the immediate future, when the first disciples will be in the same boat as the rest of us, no longer able to see and hear and know Jesus in the flesh, at least not like before.

Jesus reminds the disciples that loving Jesus means following his commandments – and Jesus’ only commandments are to love God and to love our neighbor as our self. 

Not easy, and only possible with God’s help.

And so Jesus gives a Pentecost preview, promising to send the Holy Spirit – promising that the Spirit of truth will forever be by our side, guiding us during all of the challenges and troubles of our lives.

So, today it’s still Easter - but it’s almost Pentecost.

In last week’s sermon, I mentioned in passing that a friend of mine – an Episcopal priest named Gary Commins – has a new book out.

It’s called Evil and the Problem of Jesus.

Although I finished it about a month ago, I keep thinking about it and looking over the notes that I took – a sign of a good book, I’d say!

Early in his book, Gary makes a point that had never occurred to me exactly. Although once I read it – and once you hear it – it seems plainly obvious.

Gary writes, “In the Lord’s Prayer, we ask – we pray – for God’s will to be ‘done.’ Empirically and prayerfully, our hearts, minds, and senses tell us that God’s will is not done…”

I’m going to repeat that:

“In the Lord’s Prayer, we ask – we pray – for God’s will to be to be ‘done.’ Empirically and prayerfully, our hearts, minds, and senses tell us that God’s will is not done…”

That’s for sure, right?

All we need is to spend a minute or two watching TV news, or just glancing at the front page of today’s newspaper, or taking a good look at our own community, and maybe even our own lives, to know that, all too often, God’s will is not done.

I think this tells us something important about God.

God does not – and maybe even cannot – impose God’s will on us – as much as God might like to do just that for our own good.

Instead, like a loving mother or father, God does God’s best to give us the gifts we need so we can flourish, all the tools we need to do our part in restoring God’s Garden to the beauty and peace that was always intended.

And one of the greatest of God’s gifts is the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of Truth – empowering us to do God’s will.

I met my friend Gary when he was called to serve as Priest-in-Charge of the Church of the Incarnation, which was one of the last three Episcopal churches in Jersey City.

Incarnation was founded in 1910 to be the Episcopal church for the Black Episcopalians of Jersey City.

You see, back then, Black people were not welcomed at any of the other Episcopal churches in the city – including at my future church, St. Paul’s – which was just five or six blocks away from Incarnation – a painful and shameful example of the church most definitely not doing God’s will.

Throughout the 20th Century and into the 21st, the different Episcopal churches in Jersey City developed their own identities and pursued their own ministries, sometimes competing with each other and often having as little as possible to do with each other.

By the time Sue and I arrived at St. Paul’s in 2000, things had changed. Everyone was welcome. And the church had become wonderfully diverse, with people of many colors – it was one of the reasons we fell in love with the place.

But history is a stubborn thing.

I returned to Jersey City and became rector of St. Paul’s ten years ago, right around the same time that that the third Episcopal church in Jersey City also welcomed its new rector, the Rev. Laurie Wurm.

Early on, the bishop sat us both down and told us not to compete with each other. He said that we should work together, and that we should build a relationship with the people of Incarnation, which was without a priest at the time.

And so that’s what we did – finding ways to worship together in the park and at street corners, getting the three vestries together to meet each other, to pray and to learn. 

Because St. Paul’s was so physically close to Incarnation, I took on much of their pastoral care – making hospital visits and presiding at funerals – and over time the people of Incarnation began to feel like they were my parishioners, too.

I had come to hope that maybe something new and beautiful was about to be born.

Gary Commins arrived in Jersey City, at Incarnation, a few years after Laurie and me, and he quickly became part of the team – we did even more together, praying at places of violence, opening a community center in a long-neglected neighborhood, and beginning to look into some of the shameful parts of our history.

Over time, the bonds of love and trust grew among the three churches, not perfectly, of course, but it was real and it was beautiful.

And when the day came for the Church of the Incarnation to decide on its future, they courageously and faithfully overcame a century or so of bad history and deep hurt, and they voted to unite with St. Paul’s, and we became the Church of St. Paul and Incarnation.

One Sunday, the Bishop visited us, leading the people of Incarnation to about the halfway point between our churches, where the people of St. Paul’s were waiting. And together, we processed the rest of the way to our new church home.

Now, a few years later, you can’t really tell who was an “Incarnation person” and who was a “St. Paul’s person.”

That unification is probably what I’m most proud of in my ministry.

God did not impose God’s will – God did not do the hard work for us – but God gave us the gifts we needed to flourish – the tools we needed to do our part in restoring that little urban corner of God’s garden to the beauty and peace that was always intended.

In my nearly two years with you here, I have seen and felt the Spirit of truth blowing through this old place more times than I can count.

The Spirit inspires us to welcome everybody, from Afghan refugees to the newcomers walking over that well-worn threshold for the first time, hoping to find welcome and good news.

The Spirit encourages us to be even more generous than we thought possible.

The Spirit calls us to take on new ministries.

And the Spirit reassures us that this historic church has a future far more beautiful and amazing than we can imagine.

Because God does not impose God’s will, but like a loving mother or father, God does God’s best to give us all that we need.

And one of the greatest of God’s gifts is the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of Truth – empowering us to do God’s will.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Joining God in the Neighborhood

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

May 7, 2023

Year A: The Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 7:55-60

Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

1 Peter 2:2-10

John 14:1-14

Joining God in the Neighborhood

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

I guess about six years ago, my former diocese in New Jersey – the Diocese of Newark – started a new effort called, “Going Local.”

As part of “Going Local, “ the then-Bishop, Mark Beckwith, spent a summer visiting various churches in the diocese.

These were not official visits – there wasn’t any of the usual fanfare around an episcopal visit – there wasn’t even a service. Instead, the Bishop came by on a weekday afternoon and met with a group of parishioners.

When he came to my church in Jersey City, we sat in a circle in the chancel.

We read and heard a passage of Scripture, and reflected on what God might be saying to us – individually and as a community.

We talked about what was going on in the church – the kinds of ministries we offered and the challenges we faced.

And then, we went out on a walking tour of the neighborhood, trying to keep our eyes, ears, and hearts open to signs of God’s presence and ways that we might be of better service to - and with - the community. 

Finally, the Bishop took us out for dinner at a local restaurant. And as we sat around the table, we talked about what we had seen and heard.

As you know, I’m actually from Jersey City and, I admit, I prided myself on knowing my way around – my father once told me that I drove like a taxi driver – it was a compliment, I think.

I prided myself on knowing lots of people and being known by lots of people in the neighborhood. 

But as we walked around, the Bishop saw our community with fresh eyes and asked us questions – “What goes on in the building?” “Have you ever met the pastor of this church that’s just a couple of blocks away from yours?” – questions that I couldn’t answer very satisfactorily at all.

The idea of “Going Local” was that, while God is certainly here in church, God is also very much out there in the world – out in the community – out in the neighborhood.

And so, we need to get out there to discover what God might be up to in our neighborhood.

I was reminded of “Going Local” when I reflected on today’s gospel lesson.

Today is the Fifth Sunday of Easter – yes, it’s still Easter – but, maybe surprisingly and confusingly, today’s gospel takes us back before the first Easter, back to Holy Week, back to Jesus’ last supper with his disciples and friends.

By the time of the Last Supper, even the notoriously slow-to-get-it disciples were realizing the hard truth that Jesus – the One they had come to know and love as Lord – Jesus was going to die.

In the first half of today’s lesson, Jesus tries to reassure his friends that this won’t be the end of our story – that Jesus will bring them – and us – to the place of reunion. 

And, not only that, Jesus says we know the way to the place of reunion.

Apparently, Thomas was the only one brave and honest enough to say, “Lord, we do not the know way.”

And Jesus says, “I am the way.”

That passage is probably familiar to many of us because it’s the gospel lesson we almost always read at funerals.

But then, in the second half of today’s lesson, we have an extraordinary exchange between Jesus and Philip.

Right after Jesus says, “If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him” – right after that, Philip, missing more than a couple of beats, Philip says:

“Lord, show us the Father and we will be satisfied.”

And a probably somewhat exasperated Jesus responds with words almost too bold for Philip and us to understand or believe.

Right there at the Last Supper, Jesus boldly proclaims the mind-blowing truth of incarnation – since God the Father and Jesus the Son are one, when we see Jesus, we see God.

Or, as my friend Gary Commins writes in his new book, “To see Jesus is to see God’s work and God’s face. To experience Jesus is to behold God.”

Or, as Eugene Peterson translates John 1:14:

“The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.”

“The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.”

In and through Jesus, God has moved into the neighborhood, right into the joys and sorrows and messiness of our neighborhood.

That’s what love looks like.

And God invites us – calls us - to join God in the neighborhood.

Joining God in the neighborhood.

One of the personal and professional challenges I’ve faced in the nearly two years I’ve been here is that it’s kind of difficult to get to know this particular neighborhood.

Back In Jersey City, I was able to walk out the door and see all sorts of people, familiar faces and strangers.

On just about every walk to the post office or the bank or the pizzeria, I was stopped by someone who wanted to greet me and chat for a bit, or talk about some challenge they were facing, or to ask me for help.

Sometimes that was joyful and sometimes, honestly, it was annoying and frustrating, especially if I was tired or hungry or in a hurry.

But, you know, it wasn’t hard to join God in that neighborhood.

Here in my new situation, I can’t walk past the end of the rectory driveway without risking my life to people speeding along St. Thomas Lane. 

Even after almost two years, I still haven’t met any of our immediate neighbors.

I’ve thought about it, but the only way would be driving over and knocking on their door. That doesn’t really appeal to me, especially now. 

Of course, sometimes “the neighborhood” comes to us.

A couple of Sundays ago, after the 10:00 service, two men showed up here separately – one said he’s been living in his car and the other had a tale of woe that sounded very Jersey City-like – both came here hoping and looking for some peace and kindness – and I hope they found it.

I think so.

And, the lack of walkability certainly hasn’t stopped some St. Thomas’ parishioners from “going local” and joining God in the neighborhood.

I think of our parishioners volunteering at the Community Crisis Center and Owings Mills Elementary School – that’s definitely joining God in the neighborhood, right?

But, I’ve been thinking that maybe we should consider doing our own version of “Going Local.”

Maybe some day this summer we should gather here to pray together and read and hear Scripture and then fan out into the neighborhood.

Where there’s no sidewalk, we could drive more mindfully than usual – and where there are sidewalks we could walk - really looking around, taking the time to notice what’s going on around here – who is living and working here - where God might be at work - and where God might be calling us to get to work.

And then we could return here and share what we’ve discovered.

Six years ago when the Bishop came to Jersey City, I was pretty confident that I knew my neighborhood really well – I had lived almost my whole life there, after all.

But that afternoon with fresh eyes and an open heart, I was able realize that God had moved into the neighborhood in ways that I hadn’t noticed before.

And, I bet the same would be true for us here.

Because, in and through Jesus, God has moved into the neighborhood - right into the joys and sorrows and messiness of our neighborhood.

That’s what love looks like.

And God invites us – calls us - to join God in the neighborhood.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.