Getting Into the Stream of Grace and Power

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 21, 2024

Year B: The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

Jonah 3:1-5, 10

Psalm 62:6-14

1 Corinthians 7:29-31

Mark 1:14-20

Getting Into the Stream of Grace and Power 

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

Jonah is one of my favorite Bible stories.

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

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

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

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

Well, as Jonah learns, God is everywhere.

And God can be quite persistent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t want to go to Nineveh.

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

        But God cares about Nineveh and its people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

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

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 14, 2024

Year B: The Second Sunday after the Epiphany

1 Samuel 3:1-20

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

1 Corinthians 6:12-20

John 1:43-51

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would I ever leave?

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

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

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

Sue and I didn’t go to church.

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

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

It was not a good experience.

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

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

Despite the best intentions and efforts, it happens.

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

We were definitely not going back there.

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

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

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

A bit of prophecy there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three most common answers are:

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

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

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

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

“You should come to my church sometime.”

“Come and see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come and see.”

Amen. 

"Faith is Always Personal, But Never Private"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

January 7, 2024

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

Genesis 1:1-5

Psalm 29

Acts 19:1-7

Mark 1:4-11

“Faith is Always Personal, But Never Private”

Well, the Christmas Season came to an end yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isn’t that extraordinary?

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

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

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

This wasn’t an “impulse baptism.”

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

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

It’s time to get started.

The kingdom of God is drawing near.

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

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

The kingdom of God is drawing near, very near.

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

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

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

And it all began with baptism.

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

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

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

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

With God’s help, of course.

So, I love Baptism for all of that.

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

At every Baptism, I always have the best view.

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

Every time, I can sense God’s grace.

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

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

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

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

“Faith is always personal, but never private.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

“Faith is always personal, but never private.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Faith is always personal, but never private.” 

Amen.

Christmas Lights, All Year Long

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 31, 2023

The First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Psalm 147

Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7

John 1:1-18

Christmas Lights, All Year Long

So, as I’m sure you remember, last Sunday we had a kind of holy mash-up: it was both the Fourth Sunday of Advent and also Christmas Eve.

And now this Sunday we have yet another unusual blend of the calendar: it’s the First Sunday after Christmas and it’s also New Year’s Eve.

I will come back to that in a minute. 

But first I want to say, want to celebrate, that we had a most joyful Christmas Eve and Christmas Day here at St. Thomas’.

A few highlights:

Thanks to careful preparation and some skillful work, on Sunday between around 11:00 and noon, the church was quickly transformed from Advent simplicity to Christmas lavishness.

At the 4:00 service, the children did a great job reenacting the Christmas story.

Throughout our Advent / Christmas mash-up, the choir sang as beautifully as ever, of course.

And, thankfully, lots of people came to church – folks we see all the time, others we see less often but we’re always glad when they’re here, and some newcomers who picked a particularly good weekend to go church shopping.

On Sunday evening and Monday morning, a number of people asked if I was tired but the truth is that I was energized by the whole experience. In fact, on Christmas afternoon – which, you may remember, was unseasonably warm – I took a wonderful long walk on the NCR Trail, reflecting on it all and thanking God for my many blessings.

In most ways, this year’s Christmas was similar to the last couple of Christmases here.

But there were a couple of differences.

One was the schedule change. Not having a late service on Christmas Eve was a big change – one that I definitely worried about – but it seems to have worked out OK.

And another difference is our Christmas tree that stands right outside in the circle.

Thanks to the generosity of a couple of our parishioners, this year our Christmas tree is firmly planted in the earth – a wise environmental choice, for sure, but that firmly planted tree also sends an important symbolic or even spiritual message.

Just like today, on Christmas morning our gospel lesson was from the Prologue of the Gospel of John.

Rather than starting with Mary and Joseph and the angels and shepherds, John takes us all the way back to “in the beginning.”

And John also introduces one of the key themes of his gospel: that in and through Jesus, God’s light has entered the world in a new way – and it’s a light that simply can’t be overcome by the shadows of the world.

So, in my homily on Christmas morning, I talked about how dark it gets around here at night – much darker than this almost life-long city dweller is used to – so dark that I avoid driving at night as much as possible.

But when I am out at night, when I approach the tricky intersection of Garrison Forest Road and St. Thomas Lane, I love seeing the light shining out from our cupola – the light shining out from our bell tower into the darkness – a sign of Christ’s Light shining into our shadowy world – reassuring me, and I hope others, that this holy light will never, ever be extinguished, no matter what.

And in the days leading up to Christmas, there was even more light shining into the shadows.

For the past few weeks, after I’ve survived that tricky intersection, as I pass the church driveway on my way back to the rectory, I’ve tried to cast a quick glance into our campus where all the lights that cover our firmly-planted Christmas tree have been shining with a surprising and beautiful brightness.

It’s so beautiful, in fact, that the thought crossed my mind that maybe we should just leave the lights on all year long.

Which is probably a bad idea, I know. 

So, we’re not going to do that. 

In fact, the lights have already been removed from the tree, earlier than I would have liked.

So, you know, now it’s up to us.

Maybe, together and individually, we can be those Christmas lights.

Maybe this can be our New Year’s Resolution – to stay firmly planted here at St. Thomas’ and shine the Light of Christ into our shadowy world.

To be Christmas lights, all year long.

And what might that look like?

Well, in addition to celebrating the First Sunday after Christmas and New Year’s Eve, we are also overjoyed to have one last Baptism of the old year.

In just a few moments, I’ll have the privilege of baptizing beautiful little Aitana. 

Right here in front of all of us – with all of us - she will begin her life in Christ.

And as we always do before every Baptism, we will renew our Baptismal Covenant – promising once again to gather here as often as we can, staying firmly rooted in this holy soil – vowing to turn away from evil and, when we mess up, repent and ask forgiveness.

We’ll pledge to proclaim the Good News by what we say and do – and affirm that we’ll seek and serve Christ in absolutely everyone and strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of all.

As always, only with God’s help.

And at the conclusion of the Baptism, I’ll present Aitana with her candle – which she will probably reach for because we are naturally drawn to the light – and I’ll tell her the great truth that she is the light of the world and that she should let her light shine so the world – our often shadowy world – will see her good works and give glory to God. 

An old year is drawing to a close.

I think we can all agree that, while many of us have had joyful experiences – look at Aitana here – overall, it has been a hard year.

We’ve had a joyful Christmas at St. Thomas’, but there are some among us who are mourning heartbreaking losses and lots of us are fearful about the future – our own futures and also what the new year may hold for our country and the world.

But, just like the light from our cupola, the light of Christ shines into the shadows.

Just like the lights from our firmly planted Christmas tree, lots of little lights, together, make a great light.

And so, as we begin a new year together, with God’s help, let’s resolve to shine our little lights into the shadows.

Let’s be Christmas lights, all year long.

Amen.

God's Light Shines

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 25, 2023

Christmas Day

Isaiah 52:7-10

Psalm 98

Hebrews 1:1-4

John 1:1-14

God’s Light Shines

Merry Christmas!

It’s a little hard to believe but this is actually my third Christmas at St. Thomas’.

Sue and I have been here with you for about two and a half years now. And, while I do try to be mindful and practice gratitude, the truth is that I have gotten kind of used to the many blessings of this place.

There’s the remarkable natural beauty that is all around us, of course.

There are our wonderful parishioners – you - who love this place so much and generously share your time, talents, and treasure to keep our church vital and vibrant.

There’s our amazing church staff. They are so highly skilled and so devoted to caring for all of us. They got me through the crunch time of the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve – got me through so well that, honestly, I really didn’t worry about a thing!

(Well, I did worry about people showing up here for a late service last night. But that’s it, really!)

But there’s at least one thing about this place that I have not gotten used to, and no matter how long I live here, I don’t think I ever will.

It gets really dark here at night.

As an almost-lifelong city dweller, I am used to a lot of artificial night light, so this deep darkness has been a big and unsettling change.

And, probably like at least some of you, because it’s so dark, I try to avoid driving around here at night.

In the dark, it’s easy to run into an obstacle - like one of our many deer, which would be catastrophic for the poor animal and, I have to say, also not great for my vintage Honda Fit.

And nowadays many people drive rather large vehicles, much bigger and taller than my Fit, with those super-bright headlights that shine right into my eyes, distracting me for a few precious and dangerous seconds.

So, yes, I try to avoid driving around here at night as much as possible.

But, when I am out at night, I’m often on Garrison Forest Road. 

And, when I’m almost home, there’s one last challenge: making that dangerous and tricky turn onto St. Thomas Lane. 

As I hope you know, it’s a three-way intersection but only a two-way stop.

I always wonder, are the other drivers paying attention? Do they know the rules? Are they going to follow the rules? Am I going to get home without crashing?

But, as I approach that one last challenge, I always love to see the light shining out from our church cupola – our bell tower - the light shining into the shadows – showing me the way, reminding me of God’s love and presence, no matter how many obstacles I face, no matter how dangerous the road, no matter how shadowy the world may be.

The light shines out.

Today, on Christmas Day, we always hear the Christmas story according to the Gospel of John.

John is that last of the four gospels to be written, probably around the year 100.

It’s the product of decades of divinely-inspired reflection on the meaning of Jesus – his life, death, resurrection, and, yes, his birth.

So, in John’s Christmas story, he doesn’t give us the details found in Matthew and Luke – the tale of angels and shepherds and wise men and Mary and Joseph and a helpless and vulnerable newborn king – the story so beautifully reenacted by our children in last night’s Tableau.

No, in his Christmas story, John goes wide – offering us the biggest picture of all – taking us way back, all the way back to, “in the beginning.”

I love the Christmas stories in Matthew and Luke, but John tells us what we most need to hear, especially during these difficult days of sadness, fear, anger, and hate.

In his Christmas story and throughout his gospel, John insists that in and through Jesus, God’s light shines.

And, he insists, there is simply no force powerful enough to extinguish God’s light, never, ever.

Each night, the light shining out from our church reminds us of God’s light shining in and through Jesus.

The light reminds us of what Christmas is all about.

No matter how many obstacles we face, no matter how frightened we may be, no matter how dangerous the road, God’s light shines, showing us the way home.

God’s light shines.

Merry Christmas to you all!

Amen.

Christmas Reenactors

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2023

Christmas Eve 

Isaiah 9:2-7

Psalm 96

Titus 2:11-14

Luke 2:1-20

Christmas Reenactors 

Merry Christmas!

Now, I admit to being biased, but I think that there is nothing better than Christmas here at St. Thomas’.

Of course, this doesn’t just happen.

Just like every year in the run-up to Christmas, it has been crunch time around here. But this year, because of the calendar – when the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve are the same day – well, this year, crunch time has been more crunched than ever.

But, as usual, so many people have been incredibly generous and have worked so hard:

The parishioners who stuck around today’s 10:00 service and beautifully – and amazingly quickly - transformed our church from Advent to Christmas.

The choir members who were here singing Advent hymns this morning and are back with us to sing much-loved Christmas carols and hymns this afternoon.

The altar guild members who’ve been shining and washing and pressing like crazy.

Members of the church staff who designed and cranked out hundreds and hundreds of bulletins, who got our campus looking its best, and did a whole lot of other, mostly behind the scenes, prep work.

Thanks to all these wonderful people and the many others I haven’t mentioned – thanks to all of you who have brought your joy and excitement - it is yet another beautiful Christmas here at St. Thomas’.

Merry Christmas!

In just a few minutes, we will all get to experience the Christmas Tableau, presented by some of the children of our church.

Way better than any sermon, each year our kids make the old and familiar Christmas story new and fresh again.

On the one hand, each year the story is the same – each year there are children dressed as angels and as Mary and Joseph and shepherds and lambs and wise visitors from the East bearing gifts.

But, on other hand, well, you know how it is.

Just like all of us, just like life itself, kids can sometimes be…unpredictable.

So, if you were here last year, you may remember that one of our little lambs apparently decided he would rather be an airplane, happily circling the Nativity scene with outstretched arms.

Well, why not?

In a way, our children are kind of like historical reenactors – Christmas Reenactors - dressing up and acting out the holy events in Bethlehem, two thousand years ago.

And, all of us Christians – each in our own unique and sometimes unpredictable way – we are called to be Christmas reenactors, too.

Fortunately, costumes are not required – we don’t need to wear tinsel halos or fluffy wings – we don’t have to carry a shepherd’s crook – and we definitely don’t have to be a flying lamb.

Though, again, if that’s what you’re called to do, I say go for it!

In our own unique and sometimes unpredictable way, are all called to be Christmas Reenactors.

So, like the angels, we are meant to give glory to God. 

Like the shepherds, we Christmas Reenactors are meant to look for God in unlikely places – especially among families like the Holy Family, swept up by world events, forced to travel far from home, seeking safety for their children.

Like the visitors from the East, we are meant to share our gifts. 

Like Joseph, we Christmas Reenactors are called to stand by the people we love, even when we may not fully understand what’s going on with them, even when our loyalty may cost us a whole lot.

Like Mary, we Christmas Reenactors are called to carry Jesus into the world – into a world that is often cold and inhospitable – a world so hungry for love and peace.

And like the newborn Jesus, we Christmas Reenactors are called to accept our vulnerability, placing our hope in the God who never lets go of us, and placing our trust in the many people all around us who are kind and brave and generous.

So, I admit my bias, but I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than Christmas at St. Thomas’.

Thanks to the hard work of so many – thanks to your joy and excitement – it is Christmas once again.

And thanks to our children, we are reminded that we are all meant to be Christmas Reenactors, sharing God’s love, like the angels and the shepherds and the wise men, like Joseph and Mary, and like Jesus, our newborn Savior, Messiah, and Lord.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Amen. 

The Faith and Courage to Carry Jesus Into the World

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 24, 2023

Year B: The Fourth Sunday of Advent

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

Psalm 89: 1-4, 19-26

Romans 16:25-27

Luke 1:26-38

The Faith and Courage to Carry Jesus Into the World

For the past two Advent Sundays we’ve been hearing about John the Baptist, that powerful and uncompromising prophet who called people to repent, to change their ways, to be dunked in the River Jordan and begin anew.

John prepared the way for Jesus, declaring that the Kingdom of God was drawing near.

And now this morning, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, which, you may have noticed, also happens to be December 24th, as close as we can get to Christmas without it actually being Christmas, this morning we go back in time a couple of decades and turn our attention at last to the other central character of Advent: the Virgin Mary.

The passage that Deacon Les just read from the Gospel of Luke is a familiar one.

The story of the Annunciation is a key part of every church Christmas pageant when a child wearing a tinsel halo and fluffy wings stands before a blue-veiled girl playing Mary and says, “Greetings, favored one!”

But although this passage is very familiar, it was only recently that I realized that we’re not really told why Mary is so favored by God.

In fact, we’re told almost nothing about Mary – we don’t know how old she was, or what she looked like, or what kinds of things she was good at or what she enjoyed.

We do know that she was a virgin who lived in Nazareth, an unimportant town in Galilee.

We know that she was engaged to Joseph, who was of the house of David. That certainly sounds impressive, yes, but King David had lived a long time ago and by now his descendants were numerous and really just ordinary people.

Joseph was definitely not a prince living in a royal palace.

And we know that Mary had a cousin Elizabeth, who in her old age was miraculously pregnant, carrying the future John the Baptist.

That’s all good and important to know, but we’re still not told why Mary is the favored one, why God chose her to take on the unprecedented, mind-blowing, terrifying responsibility of carrying the Son of God into a cold and inhospitable world.

I always want to know more about the people we meet in the Bible – to learn their backstories and what happened to them next. That can be fun and interesting to imagine but the truth is that Scripture tells us everything we really need to know.

And that’s certainly true of Mary.

Why is Mary the favored one?

Well, when the angel appeared to her and greeted her, our English translation says she was “perplexed.” 

But a better translation of the original Greek would be that she was “terrified.”

And who could blame her, right?

Mary was terrified. 

But this young woman from the sticks didn’t try to run away from the angel.

She didn’t cry out for help.

She didn’t squeeze her eyes shut, desperately hoping that it was all a dream.

No, Mary stayed right where she was.

And when she heard the most amazing message from the angel, she must have known that she was being asked to do something very hard and dangerous, something that would be awfully difficult to explain to Joseph and everybody else, something that would cost her - and her fiancée – dearly.

But Mary didn’t suggest that the angel should try someone else – you know, maybe ask the girl who lives across the road.

No. Mary says, yes.

“Let it be with me according to your word.”

And in that moment we learn everything we need to know about Mary.

God favors her because she is a person of the greatest faith and courage – and she’ll need every bit of that faith and courage to carry Jesus into a world that already had enough kings, thank you very much, the powers that be who will want to get rid of this king of the Jews, right from the start.

And eventually, those powers that be will get rid him, all right. 

Or, so it seemed. 

And Mary, the favored woman of faith and courage, she will have to summon the strength to watch her son die in a horrible and shameful way, still trusting in the long-ago promise of the angel, believing that somehow her son would reign forever.

Mary was favored for her faith and courage.

You’ve probably seen on the news or read in the paper that, because of the horrific war between Israel and Hamas, the Christian leaders of Bethlehem decided to cancel this year’s Christmas festivities.

There will be no huge crowds of pilgrims and tourists flocking to the place of Jesus’ birth.

You may have also seen that this year the Lutheran church in Bethlehem created a very different, painfully stark, nativity scene.

Instead of resting peacefully in a charming straw-lined manger, the Baby Jesus lies amid smashed concrete, just like children lie among the rubble in Gaza and in so many war-torn places around the world, just like many children live in poverty and hopelessness right here in our own country.

Frankly, you know things are pretty bad when the Christians of Bethlehem feel like they have to essentially cancel Christmas.

And during these hard days – hard days for the world and for many of us - we may feel perplexed, or terrified, or angry, or sad, or maybe just exhausted by it all.

Yet, Mary’s faith and courage is available to us, too.

God gives us the faith and courage to carry Jesus into our cold and inhospitable world, right here and right now.

For example, we carried Jesus into the world with each gift we donated to the Christmas Extravaganza – each gift that we shared, sorted, wrapped, and delivered.

Our Afghan friends have endured so much rubble, survived so much suffering. They’re not Christians, of course, and nobody is trying to convert them – but we carried Jesus right into their lives with the many bags of clothing and other gifts they received from us – people they will probably never meet, people they’ll never really be able to thank.

And our friends at St. Mark’s On The Hill in Pikesville, during a time of transition and uncertainty, are boldly carrying Jesus into the world by restarting their food pantry – carrying Jesus right into the rubble of poverty and hunger, offering food to fill the belly, sharing hope to fill the soul.

Well, we are now as close as we can get to Christmas without it actually being Christmas.

At last, we’ve turned our attention to the Virgin Mary.

We may not know very much about her but we know all that we need to know.

Mary was favored because she had the faith and courage to carry Jesus into a cold and inhospitable world.

And in our own time and place, God gives us that same faith and courage, too.

Amen.

Making An Old Way New Again

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

December 17, 2023

Year B: The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

Canticle 15: The Song of Mary

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Making An Old Way New Again

Last Monday evening, after getting over Covid, I attended a very impressive event at Greater Harvest Baptist Church on Saratoga Street, in West Baltimore.

It was an action hosted by BUILD (“Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development”), which has been doing the hard and good work of community organizing in Baltimore for decades.

As you may have seen in the paper or on the news, BUILD has partnered with the City and with the Greater Baltimore Committee on a bold plan to address the thousands of vacant properties in Baltimore City – buildings that are dangerous and drag down entire neighborhoods.  

I’m really not knowledgeable enough to evaluate the merits of the plan, but it was inspiring to be with well over 500 people – Christians, Muslims, Jews, other people of goodwill – who remain committed to a city that has suffered so much for so long.

Now, it just so happens that BUILD is a sister organization of Jersey City Together, which I was involved with back home.

And so on Monday, I was once again reminded of the similarities between Baltimore and my hometown. 

Just like there are two Baltimores – some prosperous and beautiful neighborhoods and also areas of near-total devastation and despair – there are two Jersey Citys – there’s the impossibly expensive real estate along the Hudson River – the Gold Coast, it’s sometimes called - and an inner city that continues to struggle with familiar and persistent and heartbreaking problems.

Both Baltimore and Jersey City were once industrial powerhouses, providing reliable, if often dangerous and tedious, blue collar employment to many thousands of people.

And both cities were once great railroad towns.

Just a few decades ago, what is now the Gold Coast was occupied by half-abandoned rail yards and warehouses. And a few decades before that, every day many thousands of people poured into Jersey City on the Jersey Central, the B & O, the Pennsylvania, and other once mighty railroads – and then hopped on a ferry over to New York.

Maybe some of you remember doing just that.

In the neighborhood where I grew up there was a little spur line, just a couple of blocks from our house.

As a kid, it was always exciting when the railroad crossing bells would ring and a freight train would rumble by.

Today that’s all gone – all that’s left is an irregularly-sized strip of land, a kind of no man’s land where I’m sure kids hang out, just like some kids hung out “on the tracks” when I was little.

So, this is a longwinded way of saying, maybe it was inevitable that I would be interested in trains.

Back in the 90’s I spent a lot of time traveling around different parts of New Jersey, photographing remnants of the Jersey Central Railroad.

And now thanks to the Internet, it’s possible to belong to different online groups of people with similar interests, abandoned rail lines, old train stations.

I recently find one group that’s a little different, though.

Rather than documenting railroad ruins, instead of discovering relics of long lost routes, this group is documenting the surprising rebirth of a line in New Jersey that has been out of service for decades – it’s called the Freehold Secondary.

And so for several months, from afar, I’ve been watching this amazing progress, as brush was cleared and old tracks and ties removed, as gravel ballast and new ties and tracks have been firmly planted, getting ready for the trains that will be rolling again soon.

The workers have been making a way – not a new way – but making an old way new again.

Making an old way new again.

Today, on the Third Sunday of Advent, we switch our liturgical color from blue to rose.

It’s a symbolic lightening up, signaling that the Advent days of preparation are drawing to a close.

Rejoice, because soon – very soon, actually – it will be Christmas!

This week we get to spend a little more time with John the Baptist, the powerful prophet who declared it was time to repent – time to turn around - because the Kingdom of God was drawing near.

John the Baptist fascinates me because then, as now, people really didn’t like being told they were on the wrong track. But John doesn’t sugarcoat his message – not at all – and yet the people still come in huge numbers.

Deep down, they know they’re heading the wrong direction – they know that they need a new start.

Well, no surprise, John’s big crowds drew the notice of the religious authorities in Jerusalem. And, as we heard in today’s gospel lesson, they send a fact-finding mission to learn just what John is up to.

And what they learn is that John is not Elijah and he’s also not the Messiah.

John declares his mission by quoting the Prophet Isaiah. John is the one crying out in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”

John prepares the way of Jesus by cutting down the weeds of sin and delusion.

John prepares the way of Jesus by calling people to repent – to change their ways – to be dunked in the River Jordan and begin anew.

John prepares the way of Jesus.

And the other main Advent character, the Virgin Mary, whose song we said today in place of a psalm, she prepares the way of Jesus by quite literally carrying him into the world - into a cold and inhospitable world, carrying the Son of God into a world where the powers that be are out to get him, right from the start.

And later, after the first Easter morning, the way of Jesus – the way of love and sacrifice - will be well traveled by the apostles and by Christians down through the ages, including the hearty and faithful band of “forest inhabitants” who built this beautiful church on the highest ground they could find.

But, you know, the way of Jesus – the way of love and sacrifice – is kind of like a railroad right-of-way. 

If the trains stop running, if maintenance is deferred, the weeds quickly take over, burying and hiding the tracks.

And it’s the same with the way of Jesus.

If we neglect the way, it too can be buried, lost, and forgotten.

Over the past couple of years, one of the key themes here at St. Thomas’ has been renewal.

We haven’t invented a new way.

Kind of like those workers laying track on the Freehold Secondary, we have made an old way new again.

With God’s help, of course.

We made an old way new again at the Christmas Extravaganza on Tuesday night, following a tradition that’s now more than two decades old, but which this year noticeably included quite a few new people, new to outreach, new to the parish, who brought their own gifts and ideas.

We made an old way new again by reimagining our Youth Confirmation program, making it less like school and more of an experience – giving our wonderful young people the opportunity to not just learn about the church but to be the church, to be who they really are.

And, I’d suggest the BUILD action on Monday night was making an old way new again – Christians and people of other faiths or maybe no faith but goodwill, gathering together to endorse a kind of complicated plan which may or may not work, we’ll see, but really we gathered to choose hope – choosing Advent hope even in the midst of so much fear and despair.

This is the way of Jesus.

This is the way of love and service.

It’s the way prepared by the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist.

It’s an old way that we are called to make new again.

Amen.