The Parable of the Orioles (Or, Remaining Faithful to the Hard Road)

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 3, 2023

Year A, Proper 17: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c

Romans 12:9-21

Matthew 16:21-28

The Parable of the Orioles (Or, Remaining Faithful to the Hard Road)

Sometimes – like when I stop by the Parish Hall early on a Wednesday morning and visit with our faithful parishioners making a mountain of sandwiches for the guests at Paul’s Place, or like the other day when I turned into the driveway and saw the sunlight bouncing off the copper trim of our beautiful new church roof – sometimes I ask myself, how did I get here?

In a very real way, that journey began way back in the 1950s, with a Jersey City boy – my future dad - a baseball fan, who rooted for the almost always terrible St. Louis Browns.

Why the Browns, you ask? I really don’t know. I think maybe he just liked rooting for the underdog.

And when the Browns moved to Baltimore in 1954, my loyal dad transferred his allegiance to the Orioles, and has rooted for them ever since.

As many of you know, when my sister and I were little, my family made several trips to Baltimore, which always included at least one Orioles game at Memorial Stadium.

In those days, the players just parked in a lot with no apparent security and, if you got there early enough, you could see them making their way into the stadium, and you could ask them for autographs.

One time, when I was eleven years old, my dad and I were at the stadium early and we spotted the star pitcher Jim Palmer, who happened to be carrying his laundry. I went over and shyly asked for his autograph. He was about to sign but then saw a bunch of other kids running over. He said since he was pitching he couldn’t sign for everybody. So, instead, I got a picture of Number 22, his laundry, and me – a future, though very different, number 22!

    (I'm the 22nd Rector of St. Thomas'.)

    (And, by the way, Palmer pitched 12 innings that game. Something that would NEVER happen today!)

Although those family trips eventually came to an end, I never lost my interest in, and fondness for, Baltimore.

Fast forward to seven years ago.

I suggested to my dad that we should restart the tradition of those trips, head down to Baltimore, take in an Orioles game or two, see some of the sights, and, most important, spend some time together.

And that’s what we did – and it was great – and became an annual event.

Unfortunately, the revival of our family tradition coincided almost exactly with the total collapse of the Orioles - and the start of the long and painful rebuild.

As many of you know only too well, the new General Manager of the Orioles, Mike Elias, formulated a plan of rebuilding – or, you might say, renewal – that involved nurturing young minor league talent while leaving the major league team – and its fans – to suffer so many ugly and painful defeats.

During our annual trips to Camden Yards, my father and I saw quite a few terrible games, usually surrounded by delighted fans of the opposing team.

It was a hard road, one that required a lot of faith in the plan and a lot of hope for the future. And I bet there was a lot of pressure to choose a quicker and easier way, but, to their credit, the Orioles stuck with this hard road and now are experiencing the joy of new life – so much joy and so much new life that well over 100 of us have signed up to go to the last home game of the season, including that Jersey City kid who transferred his allegiance to the team way back in 1954!

The Parable of the Orioles.

Or, remaining faithful to a hard road.

If you were here last week, you may remember that Peter had a really good day.

Jesus asked his disciples, “But who do you say that I am?”

And to everyone’s surprise, including probably his own, it’s Peter – well-meaning but often bumbling Peter – who gets the answer exactly right:

“You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” he says.

Jesus then goes on to declare that Peter will be the first stone upon which he will build the Church.

A really good – even glorious - day for Peter.

And now in today’s gospel lesson we pick up right where we left off last week, and, well, Peter’s glory sure is fleeting, isn’t it?

Jesus describes to his disciples the hard road ahead, “that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering…and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”

Peter is so shocked, devastated, by what Jesus has said that he is unable to hear the promise of new life – the promise of renewal – at the end of the hard road.

Instead, all Peter can hear is that Jesus – his friend and Lord, the one he had correctly identified as Messiah and Son of God – all Peter can hear is suffering and death.

And so Peter takes Jesus aside and he “rebukes” Jesus.

“God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you!”

That’s a strong word, “rebuke.”

And Jesus, he goes right back at Peter – rebuking Peter in return – “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Strong words that must have been hard for Peter to hear.

Why did Jesus rebuke Peter?

Probably because Jesus really was tempted to turn away from the hard road of his mission, the hard road of the cross.

And, knowing what we know is waiting for Jesus in Jerusalem, who could blame him?

But, Jesus knows that the hard road, as painful as it is, is the only way to Easter, the only way to new life, the only way to renewal.

And so, Jesus remains faithful to the hard road.

As we know from the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus – and also from the Parable of the Orioles – there are no shortcuts on the hard road to new life, the hard road to renewal.

People in recovery know this – the Twelve Steps that our friend Sam Shoemaker helped to develop – they chart a hard road: recognizing and admitting powerlessness over addiction, taking a searching and fearless moral inventory, making amends for the wrongs done – a hard road indeed.

And our own Baptismal Covenant is a hard road – proclaiming the Good News by word and example – seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self, striving for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being – a hard road, a road we can travel only with God’s help.

A hard road that we are often tempted to turn away from.

A hard road that, fortunately, we travel together.

In two weeks, we will celebrate Renewal Sunday.

It will be a time to celebrate how far we have traveled on our hard road – how we have done the hard work of rebuilding and enhancing both our buildings and our ministries – how we have done the hard work of opening our doors to absolutely everybody – how we have done the hard work of looking beyond our church walls, looking for those who need our help, looking for those we may have forgotten.

Renewal Sunday won’t be the end of the road – just another step in our journey.

And if we remain faithful to the way of Jesus, the road ahead will no doubt be hard.

We may be tempted to turn away.

But, as Jesus – and, yes, the Orioles - teach us, the hard road is the only way to new life, the only way to renewal.

Amen.

The Foundation

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 27, 2023

Year A: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Exodus 1:8-2:10

Psalm 124

Romans 12:1-8

Matthew 16:13-20

The Foundation

For the past sixteen years, Sue and I have lived in church housing of one kind or another, including for the last two years in the rather grand rectory just down the road from here, surrounded by what feels like our own personal park.

Living in church housing has been an interesting experience. There are pros and cons to everything, but I have to say that I’ve always been grateful that when things go wrong at the house, I can just pick up the phone and there are people who take care of it!

I really appreciate that because it was not always so.

Although it’s so long ago now that I sometimes forget, in the early years of our marriage Sue and I owned a house in Jersey City.

It was the center house in a small row of three.

It was narrow – only fourteen feet wide, I think – not quite as narrow as a Baltimore row house, but still.

Built around 1900, it had lots of charming details that we loved – and, most of all, it was ours – our biggest investment – a place where we thought we’d live for far longer than we actually did.

I remember when we were in the process of buying the house and the home inspector made his walk-through. Since the house was fairly old, there were some issues – there are always issues, right? But I’ll never forget something the inspector said to us:

The foundation is the most important part of the house. Anything else can be fixed, but if the foundation is no good, then the house is no good.

Some years later when we were selling that same house and the buyer’s inspector came through – their inspector turned out to be much more thorough than ours, by the way – but when we were selling and I was sweating, I remembered those words about the foundation and breathed a deep sigh of relief when, although there were plenty of problems, the foundation was still solid.

The foundation is the most important part of the house. 

And that’s true for the church – not just the old building with a new roof across the driveway – but our community.

And that’s true for each of us, individually, too.

The foundation is the most important part of the house.

We hear a bit about foundations – about our foundation – in today’s gospel lesson.

As Jesus made his way from village to village, teaching and healing, he attracted lots of interest.

No doubt, some people wanted some of his good food – all that bread and fish – that they had heard about.

Others wanted healing, for themselves or for a tormented family member.

Others, like some of the religious authorities, were suspicious of - felt threatened by - this mysterious teacher and healer. 

As we heard in today’s gospel lesson, in some ways Jesus reminded people of other holy people - John the Baptist, or Elijah or Jeremiah or some other prophet.

But, although Jesus was reminiscent of others, he also taught and healed like no one had ever seen or heard.

So, who is he?

We know that Jesus’ disciples had a hard time figuring him out, so the question he poses to his friends, “But who do you say that I am?” seems like it’s going to be a tough one for them to answer.

But, probably to everyone’s surprise including his own, it’s Simon Peter – lovable but often bumbling Peter – it’s Peter who gets the answer exactly right.

The fisherman says, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”

I imagine all the others turning and looking at Peter, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Jesus declares that Peter didn’t figure this out on his own, and he didn’t hear about it from one of the others. No, God has given Peter this insight and understanding.

And then, Jesus makes a bold pronouncement.

With some wordplay that we miss in the English translation, Jesus declares that Simon - whose nickname “Peter” comes from a word meaning rock or stone – Simon Peter will be the first stone in the church Jesus will build – a church with the power resist evil – a church that holds the keys to heaven and to hell.

Now, at this point, if you’ve been following along, you might be getting a little confused or even nervous.

I mean we know Simon Peter pretty well – and we know that, like us, he messed up pretty regularly, sometimes in really big ways. Yes, he had a good day today, but if you come back next week, you’ll hear about one of Peter’s worst mistakes, when he tries to talk Jesus out of his mission.

So, if Peter – or any of us, for that matter - is the foundation of the church or even the foundation of our own lives, then we’re in serious trouble.

I can already see the cracks forming.

As a Church and as individuals, we often rely on our history, our wealth, our talents, our intelligence, our relationships, and that often works out OK. But, those foundations can crack oh so easily, endangering the whole house.

No, Christ is the only sure foundation of the Church – and Christ is the only sure foundation of our lives.

What might a life built on Christ’s foundation look like?

Back in Jersey City, we used to offer a service at a local nursing home.

Although many of the nursing home employees tried their best, this was a place for very poor people, kind of run down and with no fancy amenities.

Anyway, once a month, our choir director and I and a few other parishioners would head over a brief service that included prayers and a Bible reading, and some familiar hymns. I’d give a short homily and then make my way around the room, offering Holy Oil to anyone who wanted.

They almost all wanted to be anointed.

Many of the residents in the congregation were kind of in and out – more or less engaged during the singing and during the Lord’s Prayer – while many nodded off or zoned out during my homily – if you can believe it!

But there was one woman, about 70 years old, who was always fully alert and attentive to everything – saying the prayers with feeling and listening to my words, hoping – needing – to be fed, it seemed to me.

Her name was Theresa.

Eventually, we started exchanging a few words after the service. 

Later, I would go over to the nursing home just to visit her. We’d meet in her room – really half a room – with barely the space for a twin bed, a dresser, and a chair where I could sit.

We would talk and pray and have Communion.

And gradually, she shared her story with me.

As a young woman she had been a nun but after a few years she left the convent and pursued a career in science, earning her PhD and working as a researcher at a prestigious university.

(She gave me a copy of her CV, maybe suspecting that I wouldn’t totally believe her story.)

But then her life fell apart – the death of a loved one, physical ailments, understandable emotional trouble – and eventually she lost nearly everything - her work and her home and her money and even her freedom – she ended up with a state-appointed guardian who made every decision for her.

I remember thinking, how can this happen?

But the truth is, it happens all the time.

All of Theresa’s foundations had cracked and failed, except, of course, for the One Foundation.

Having lost so much and now stuck in her crummy room, I would have expected Theresa to be profoundly depressed and angry – angry at God, certainly – and not wanting to talk with me.

But, although she definitely got frustrated at her circumstances, for sure, the truth was her faith had only deepened as she came to understand that all those other foundations she had thought she could count on were not so reliable after all.

She came to know the sureness of Christ’s foundation, supporting her no matter what, without fail.

Theresa was also a poet and I was honored that she shared some of her poetry with me – all of it beautiful, expressing both searing pain and confident faith.

Here’s an excerpt from a poem that she wrote in her little room:

I have been cloistered

In this room.

There are times that it is quiet;

Times I can immerse myself

In prayer with You, my Lord,

And I can be open

And still enough

For my heart to hear You.

One day I went over to the nursing home to visit Theresa and found her half-room empty, her few possessions gone.

I asked at the nurses’ station and they told me that she had died a week before. I never found out what happened to her or where she ended up.

I was so sad – and pretty angry at the nursing home – but now, mostly I feel very grateful to have known Theresa, and to have witnessed her faith.

Like all of us, I would really prefer to avoid her fate.

But, she will always remind me that the foundations of our life serve their purposes but they can all, each one of them, crack and fail.

There is only one sure foundation for the Church and for each of us – and it’s not Peter or me or any of us.

The sure foundation is Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.

Amen.

Sacred Hearts

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 20, 2023

Year A, Proper 15: The 12th Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 45:1-15

Psalm 133

Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32

Matthew 15:10-28

Sacred Hearts

You’ve probably heard of the very popular Roman Catholic devotion to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus – if for no other reason than the Roman Catholic Church over in Reisterstown is named “Sacred Heart.”

In this devotion, Jesus’ sacred heart is viewed as a symbol of God’s overflowing love of humanity – God’s unlimited love for all of us, no matter what.

We know from the gospels that Jesus has a deep concern about our hearts.

Jesus teaches that what is going on in our heart is most important – because it is a quick trip from what is going “in here” to what we actually do “out here.”

And we certainly hear this heart teaching in the first part of today’s gospel lesson.

It’s a familiar scene: a conflict between Jesus and religious leaders, in this case, the Pharisees.

Back in the first century, just like today, Judaism was diverse – there were lots of different groups with various ideas about how best to obey and worship God.

One of those groups was the Pharisees. We don’t actually know that much about them, but it seems they aimed to make everyday life holy by teaching people to take on various religious practices.

In the gospels, the Pharisees are almost always depicted as opponents of Jesus.

Jesus specifically criticizes the Pharisees’ emphasis on religious practices because he sees it as putting unnecessary burdens on already overburdened people. All that is truly necessary is to love God and love neighbor, Jesus teaches.

And, as we heard today, Jesus is skeptical of religious practices because there is the great danger that we will focus too much on the externals – saying and doing the “right things” - while not paying enough attention to what’s going on in our hearts – in our hearts, which are meant to be sacred but are often hardened and defiled by fear, hate, and greed.

Our sacred hearts are meant to be like Jesus’ Sacred Heart – a sign and symbol of God’s overflowing love for everybody, very much including people who are different than us, very much including people we don’t even know.

In the second part of today’s gospel lesson, I think we heard our brother Jesus’ heart grow in love and sacredness.

We’re told that Jesus is in or near Tyre and Sidon, a non-Jewish land, probably an unfamiliar and perhaps uncomfortable place for the Jewish Jesus.

As we heard, It’s there that a Canaanite woman desperately asks Jesus to help her daughter who is “tormented by a demon.”

Surprisingly, at first Jesus seems to ignore her.

And, the disciples, well, they continue their losing streak by being annoyed by her shouting. No compassion there. They ask Jesus to send her away.

And, surprise, Jesus seems to do just that – he dismisses this poor woman pleading for her daughter:

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” Jesus says.

But this Canaanite woman, this loving mother, this woman with a sacred heart of her own, she persists with heartbreaking words: 

“Lord, help me.”

And then, in one of the most shocking moments in the gospels, a very un-Jesus-like Jesus seems to insult this pleading woman:

“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

But the woman responds with an extraordinarily bold comeback:

“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

Not everyone would agree with me about this but I believe in this moment, something shifts in Jesus – in this encounter with a pleading, loving, courageous foreign woman, Jesus’ Sacred Heart grows a little bit bigger and holier as he realizes that his mission is bigger than maybe even he had previously recognized.

Jesus’ Sacred Heart is a sign and symbol of God’s overflowing love for everybody – very much including a Canaanite woman willing to spar with God’s Son to save her daughter’s life.

Sacred hearts.

Well, we offer a number of spiritual practices here at St. Thomas’ – from Bible Study to Morning Prayer - but Jesus is clear that those practices only have value if they make our sacred hearts more loving.

Sometimes this may seem to be too difficult, or even impossible.

We don’t have to look far to see people whose hearts are hardened and defiled by fear, anger, and greed – plenty of people in public life, certainly – and, if we’re being honest with ourselves, sometimes our hearts are hardened and defiled, too.

Considering the state of our land and our world, it would be easy to conclude that this “heart work” just isn’t worth it.

And yet, over and over, God offers us examples of sacred hearts shining God’s overflowing love for everybody.

Just a couple of recent examples:

Last Sunday night, Robert Horne, 50 years old, a security guard at the Baltimore Convention Center, was driving on Interstate 395 near the Inner Harbor when he spotted a disabled vehicle stopped by the side of the road.

Mr. Horne – a husband and father – pulled over to offer assistance – not knowing the driver – not knowing what he would encounter but just willing to help.

This was not the first time he had done something like this.  While most of us would just keep going and leave it to others whose job it is to help, Robert Horne stepped into the unknown, at great risk to himself, and offered help to a stranger.

Tragically, as you may have seen on the news, another car crashed into the disabled car. The impact sent Robert Horne over the side of the road and into the water below, where he lost his life.

Sacred Hearts.

That same day, a Jesuit priest named Fr. Jim Keenan died, at age 86, after more than 60 years of religious life. He was a very able administrator, and over his long career he led several Jesuit high schools in the Northeast, including serving as President of St. Peter’s Prep in Jersey City when I taught there.

But what all of us will always remember about Jim was his personal care and love for everybody.

He was famous for presiding at countless weddings of former students and at the baptisms of their children and grandchildren. And he was beloved for remembering – and making the time – to call people on significant days – birthdays, wedding anniversaries, the anniversaries of a loved one’s death.

Jim had a deep and booming voice – Prep kids used to liken it to Darth Vader – but his words were gentle.

Jim reached out to the many, many people he had encountered over the years  – and that would’ve been enough – but he also reached out to people he had never even met.

Christopher Smith is a young Jesuit here in Baltimore and here’s what he wrote about Jim:

“Every year on January 19, without fail, the little icon indicating I had a new voicemail would pop up on my phone. When I’d listen, the same deep voice would greet me. The tenor of the message was always the same: he’d thank me for my yes to God, assure me of his prayers, and inform me that he had offered mass that day for the repose of the soul of my great-grandmother.

I never met the man. I never even remembered my great-grandmother’s anniversary prior to his yearly mass (because I didn’t even know her). This brother of mine had simply read an article that I wrote once, was touched by it, and remembered me and my family in prayer.”

On the day that Jim Keenan died, he had baptized one final baby – and I can’t think of a more appropriate way for him to conclude his ministry, leave this life, and enter eternity with God.

Sacred hearts.

So, with God’s help, this is what’s possible for us – for our hearts.

God has made our hearts to be sacred – to shine overflowing love into the world - love for the people we know – love for the stranger – love for absolutely everybody.

May it be so.

Amen.

Trust Issues

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 13, 2023

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

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

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

Romans 10:5-15

Matthew 14:22-23

Trust Issues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, we have big time trust issues.

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

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

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

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

But even we have our trust issues, right?

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

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

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

We have trust issues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus tries to reassure his friends.

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

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

Which is a strange request, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little background:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Peter and I have learned some important lessons.

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

No matter our trust issues, God is trustworthy.

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

Amen.

Glimpses of Mutual Joy

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 6, 2023

The Feast of the Transfiguration

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Peter 1:13-21

Luke 9:28-36

Glimpses of Mutual Joy

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

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

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

This seasonal change is bittersweet, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But mutual joy is not just for married people.

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

This is something we often forget, of course.

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

Glimpses of mutual joy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

The Enormous Importance of Seemingly Small Things

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 30, 2023

Year A, Proper 12: The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 29:15-28

Psalm 105:1-11, 45b

Romans 8:26-39

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

The Enormous Importance of Seemingly Small Things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The enormous importance of seemingly small things.

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

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

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

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

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

The enormous importance of seemingly small things.

These days, our problems and challenges sure seem overwhelming.

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

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

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

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

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

  The wonderful return of the Paul’s Place Camp.

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

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

So, let us not lose heart.

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

Amen.

With God, It's Always Planting Season

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

July 16, 2023

Year A, Proper 10: The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 25:19-34

Psalm 119:105-112

Romans 8:1-11

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

With God, It’s Always Planting Season 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For us, planting season is over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God is the sower and we are the cultivators.

And God just does not give up.

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

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

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

Messed up.

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

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

And you thought your family was messed up!

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

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

And the same is true for us.

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

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

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

So, about our rectory garden.

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

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

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

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

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

With God, it’s always planting season.

Amen.