Getting and Giving a Good Look at Jesus

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 30, 2022

Year C, Proper 26: The Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost

Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4

Psalm 119:137-144

2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12

Luke 19:1-10

Getting and Giving a Good Look at Jesus

As many of you know, I spent last week at a monastery in Kentucky on a silent retreat (yes, I could do it, no problem!) and, while I have a whole backlog of things to talk about, I just want to say a few words about today’s wonderful gospel lesson.

We’re told Jesus is passing through the historic city of Jericho where he has attracted a large crowd.

A man named Zacchaeus was there. He was the chief tax collector and was very rich.

Now, in most times and places, tax collectors are never the most popular people but Zacchaeus and his colleagues were especially despised because they were Jews who collaborated with the hated Roman occupiers.

But for whatever reason, Zacchaeus is drawn to Jesus, so much so that he climbs a sycamore tree to get a good look, because, we’re told, “he was short of stature.”

Jesus spots short Zacchaeus up in the tree, and promptly invites himself over to the tax collector’s house - freaking out absolutely everyone, except the happy and hospitable Zacchaeus.  

And transformed by this encounter with Jesus, Zacchaeus gives away much of his wealth to the poor and anyone he “may” have defrauded (cough, cough).

So, what does this wonderful story have to say to us today?

Well, at this point, I wonder how many people are even trying to get a good look at Jesus.

So many of our neighbors and family members have been turned off by Christianity for reasons well known to us all: the institutional church itself, its seeming irrelevance, its complacency and self-absorption, its many scandals – the fact that the loudest “Christian” voices in our country spew so much hate and ignorance – the truth that there are lots of nice ways to spend our Sunday mornings, and plenty of meaningful ways to help others, that have nothing to do with church or faith.

And yet we believe – we know – that Jesus is the way of new life, just as he was for Zacchaeus long ago.

So, especially in this time of much trouble, it seems to me that our job, with God’s help, is to show Jesus to the world again – to help them get a good look.

We do that by being a community where all are welcome, where we offer ourselves in loving service, where there are no benchwarmers, where we all contribute: by praying, by caring for one another, and by giving not just from what we have left over, but giving in ways that really cost us, just like a certain short tax collector did long ago.

We need to give people a good look at Jesus.

Answered Prayers

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 16, 2022

Year C, Proper 24: The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost 

Jeremiah 31:27-34

Psalm 119:97-104

2 Timothy 3:14-4:5

Luke 18:1-8

Answered Prayers 

Today is Outreach Sunday when we are blessed to hear from leaders of some of our truly amazing ministry partners – people who are out there serving others, week after week, year after year.

I’d like to say just a few words about the parable that I just read – what’s often called the Parable of the Persistent Widow.

Although we don’t know much about the two characters in this parable, they’re both vivid and memorable – and they may even remind us of people we know!

We’re told the judge “neither feared God nor had respect for people.”

And, while in Scripture and elsewhere, widows are often depicted as weak and defenseless, this particular widow is a tough customer. We might say that she even harasses the judge, relentlessly demanding justice – a word that in this case can also be translated as “vengeance” – which kind of changes things, doesn’t it?

Well, the judge finally gives in, out of exhaustion or even fear. He says that he’s concerned that she will wear him out. But the original Greek can also be translated that he’s afraid she’s going to punch him in the eye!

Jesus uses this strange and unsettling parable as an opportunity to encourage us to pray persistently.

I’m all for praying persistently.

And, in fact, I believe that prayer is and has to be the foundation of the renewal that we see happening here at St. Thomas’ – it’s why this fall we’re reading a book called Learning to Pray and why we’ve added a weekly service of Morning Prayer, with even more opportunities for prayer coming in the months and years ahead.

So, I’m all for praying persistently.

But during the last few days leading up to Outreach Sunday, I’ve been thinking about the people all around us who have already been praying persistently. People like the clients at Paul’s Place and the Community Crisis Center, praying persistently that they will have enough food to feed their families, enough diapers to keep their children clean and comfortable.

People like the parents, teachers, and administrators of Owings Mills Elementary School, praying persistently that their school will have enough resources – praying that their children will be safe, that they will learn and grow, and build lives of meaning and prosperity.

People like the refugees who have fled war, oppression, and poverty, praying persistently for a warm welcome - praying for peace, freedom and opportunity.

And here’s the thing: I believe that God invites us to help answer the persistent prayers of these people and others.

Not out of exhaustion and certainly not fear, but out of love and gratitude.

In fact, I wonder if we shouldn’t change the name of “Outreach” to “Answered Prayers!” 

As it happens, yesterday was the Feast of Teresa of Avila, the 16th Century Spanish nun, mystic, and reformer.

And I’ll conclude with her words, which, now that I think about it, could be the mission statement for “Answered Prayers” -

“Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

Amen.

Resurrections

Trinity & St. Philip’s Cathedral, Newark NJ

October 8, 2022

The Funeral of The Rev. Canon Dr. David H. Hamilton

Isaiah 61:1-3

Psalm 23

1 Peter 5:1-4

John 21:1-14

Resurrections

I guess about twenty years ago, the now-famous St. Peter’s University in Jersey City erected a statue of its patron saint, right in front of the campus on Kennedy Boulevard.

The statue is a classic depiction of Saint Peter. He’s wearing the “Keys to the Kingdom” and he’s hauling a net filled with the day’s catch.

Peter is presented as a strong man with a full beard and a face that looks like it’s seen a few things, weathered both by the sea and by the storms of life.

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

His life as a simple but hard-working fisherman was interrupted by the sudden and unexpected and life-transforming call of Jesus.

Jesus nicknamed him Cephas – “the Rock” – though often he didn’t seem rock solid, exactly.  The truth is that Peter made quite a few mistakes, including one that was catastrophic. Not only did Peter abandon Jesus in his greatest moment of need but he denied that he even knew Jesus, denied his Lord three times.

What must it have been like for Peter during those hours between the heartbreak of Good Friday and the indescribable joy of Easter morning?

For Peter, during that in-between time, death might have seemed preferable to living with his shame, fear, and regret.

But, we know what happened next.

On the first Easter morning, Jesus is raised from the dead – but not just Jesus!

The disciples, led by Peter, they will be raised, too. 

Soon they will be brought back to life, no longer fearful people hiding behind locked doors but now bold apostles of the Good News.

In today’s gospel lesson we hear a story that sounds to me like Peter’s shame being washed away in the water – a story that ends with a meal hosted by the Risen Christ – a celebration that sure sounds like Holy Communion, with a side of abundant fish.

Resurrection happens all the time.

The Rev. Canon Dr. David H. Hamilton was Rector of St. Paul’s Jersey City when St. Peter’s put up its statue, just a few blocks away from the church.

Dave really liked that statue – and, in fact, later it became the destination of his post-open heart surgery walks, as he regained strength, maybe inspired by Peter’s own example of resurrection.

And, although Dave was rector of two churches named in honor of St. Paul, the truth is he was always more of a St. Peter guy – he loved the sea, and he really loved the Shore.

Most of all, the story of Peter’s resurrection resonated with Dave – the amazing grace of Jesus that saved Peter – the amazing grace that saved Dave – the amazing grace that saves us all.

Sue and I first met Dave at St. Paul’s Jersey City on the Second Sunday of Advent in 2000.

We lived just a few blocks away from the church, and at the invitation of Patty Nickerson - a St. Paul’s parishioner who was also one of my teaching colleagues - we were there to check out this interesting-looking church and also its priest, who Patty was convinced we would like a lot.

Now, my St. Paul’s family has heard me tell this story a million times, but please bear with me.

That first Sunday, I was dazzled by the beauty of the building, the excellence of the music, the diversity of the people, the compassion and intelligence of the sermon, and, most of all the warm welcome of the people.

Sue and I will never forget that first passing of the peace – everyone out in the aisle seemingly delighted to see one another – and right there in the middle of the action was Dave. Like any good priest, he had spotted these two newcomers and so he made his way down the aisle to our pew – where we must have looked more than a little overwhelmed – and Dave stretched out his hand to us and said,

“I’m Dave. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”

Sue and I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but that encounter was a fork in the road for us, sending us off in a direction we could have never imagined.

It was the beginning of a particularly close friendship between Dave and me – father and son – brothers – mentor and mentee – all of it mixed up together.

Dave made us part of his family where we got to know Cheryl and Lori, his pride and joy.

By the time we met Dave, his face was a little weathered, too.

Like Peter, he had endured the storms of life. Like all of us, he made his share of mistakes, but by the amazing grace of God, he had reached the safety of the shore at last.

Dave loved telling the story of his return to the church.

He was doing the hard work of getting sober and regaining his health, and so he made an appointment with Bishop Spong to see about getting back into ministry.

Dave waited, nervously, in the reception area. Then the bishop’s office door opened and out he came. Without saying a word, Bishop Spong stretched out his arms and embraced Dave, welcoming him back into the fold.

In that amazing moment, Bishop Spong was a light along the shore for Dave, guiding him back to safety.

Resurrection happens all the time.

I’m convinced that Dave’s troubles and losses made him a better priest.

(Actually, he thought so, too!)

Like Peter, perhaps, Dave’s travails made him more patient with the failures of others, less judgmental, more forgiving, and just more easygoing about the whole thing.

To me, Dave was the embodiment of the “wounded healer,” a leader unafraid to show his scars – a leader authentic enough to admit that he didn’t have everything figured out – a leader humble enough to say that he was a pilgrim on the road just like the rest of us – a brother who stretched out his hand in welcome and friendship and said, come on, let’s walk together.

Dave was also really funny – one of the best parts of being friends with him was the laughter.

My friend Laurie Wurm tells the story of sitting beside Dave at some probably overly long and really boring church meeting when Dave leaned over to her and deadpanned, “Thank God I’m sober.”

Back when I was coming through the ordination process, I used to worry that there wouldn’t be enough church jobs to go around. Dave used to reassure me that it would all turn out OK. “There are always good jobs for good people,” he’d say. But then one year at convention, when all the postulants and candidates for Holy Orders stood to be introduced, he looked at the long line and said, “My God, I don’t know, Tom, maybe you’re right. That IS a lot of people!”

And he could laugh at himself, too.

In his early days he was quite conservative and vocally opposed the ordination of women. At some church meeting he stood up and said something like, “May my hand wither if I ever participate in the ordination of a woman!” Well, a few years later, after he had a change of heart on that subject, he did indeed participate in the ordination of a woman. And after the part of the service when all the priests lay hands on the ordinand, the bishop remembered Dave’s earlier bold declaration and asked him, “Hey Dave, how’s your hand?”

And after each joke or funny story there was always Dave’s laughter – laughter that started in his belly, and ended as a coughing fit.

When I was coming through the ordination process, I always imagined that Dave and I would serve as priests together, that he would lean over to me at some boring church meeting and say something like, “Thank God, I’m sober.”

But, having been through a lot and dreaming of days at the Shore, he decided to retire right around the time I was ordained.

I remember I once gently suggested that he retire closer to us, suggesting maybe a nice condo in Bayonne.

“Bayonne!” he roared and then came the coughing fit.

But, retirement was not what he had hoped and the last fifteen years were hard ones for Dave and his family as he faced one ailment and setback after another.

Here’s the thing, though: each time I counted him out, God would raise him from the dead once again and he would somehow find new ways to do ministry – working with a Roman Catholic deacon to bring Communion to the homebound – appointing himself unofficial chaplain of his assisted living facility – finding meaningful work at St. Mark’s in Keansburg where he got to once again celebrate the Eucharist and preach and spent time hanging out with the folks who came to the church’s community meals, offering that same hand of welcome and friendship, just like old times.

And then, a few years ago, Dave surprised me by asking if he could come and preach and celebrate the Eucharist with us back at St. Paul’s in Jersey City.

It was a day we won’t ever forget, as a frail but somehow also incredibly strong David Hamilton – like a diminished but indomitable Saint Peter – stood in the aisle and preached from his heart without notes, sharing the amazing grace that he had experienced in his own life and had shared with so many of us over the years.

And, when we stood at the altar – brother priests, at last – it felt like a journey that had begun with a hand offered in welcome had come full circle with a hand now extended in blessing.

Over the past year, it had become increasingly clear that Dave’s life was drawing to a close, although, because he had experienced resurrection so many times, I half-expected him to surprise us once again.

But now, our brother and friend is finally at rest, welcomed no doubt by his kindred spirit, Saint Peter.

Dave is at rest, waiting for one last resurrection, that great day when we will all be reunited.

If he were preaching today, I think he’d tell us to be not afraid, to trust in the Risen Christ, and believe that resurrection happens all the time.

And he would add, “I don’t have to believe it, because I’ve seen it.”

Amen.

Even in a Time of Lengthening Shadows, the Promise of Renewal

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

October 3, 2022

Year C, Proper 22: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Lamentations 1:1-6

Lamentations 3:19-26

2 Timothy 1:1-14

Luke 17:5-10

Even in a Time of Lengthening Shadows, the Promise of Renewal

So, it was just a few weeks ago that I stood up here and talked about seeing the first gold and brown leaves beginning to fall along the rail trail and here on our church campus.

We all knew what was coming. And yet, doesn’t it feel like we suddenly turned the page from summer to fall?

Just like that, it’s October!

I like the fall, with its more comfortable temperatures and the beautiful foliage.

And while we certainly had a rich and full summer here at St. Thomas’, fall feels like the time to get back to work – Sunday School has resumed in its beautiful new space - the full choir is back (and processing before and after the service, which, I have to say, looks really sharp!) – at last week’s Outreach Forum, we dreamed about even more ways to live into our calling as a “servant church” – and our stewardship campaign is off to an exciting start, calling all of us to be generous, giving thanks for God’s abundant generosity.

So, it’s a great time, and I feel excited and energized.

Mostly.

I say “mostly” because, while I like the fall, I’m always saddened by the shorter days.

It’s already too dark to squeeze in an early morning walk on the rail trail.

And, to me, the lengthening shadows of the Northern Hemisphere seem to reflect the shadowy news from so much of the world – the increasingly dangerous war in Ukraine, the unimaginably devastating floods in Pakistan, the destruction caused by Hurricanes Fiona and Ian in the Caribbean and Florida – the rise of of hate and violence in our country and in so many places.

And the lengthening shadows seem to reflect the hard times faced by a lot of people, including some of us - the strain caused by inflation, the troubles of illness and age, the heartbreak of broken relationships, and the fear of what is yet to come.

It is a time of lengthening shadows, for sure.

And in times of trouble, a natural reaction is lament – to grieve what and who have been lost - just like how the people of Israel wept over the destruction of Solomon’s Temple in 586 BC, mourning the loss of what they considered the most sacred place in the world, grieving that so many of their people had been exiled, maybe forever, in faraway Babylon.

In today’s lessons, we actually heard two selections from the Book of Lamentations, which is a biblical collection of poems written probably not long after Jerusalem had been sacked and so many people had been scattered.

“How lonely sits the city that once was full of people!”

Much of Lamentations is quite sad, understandably so, but what keeps it from being depressing is an undercurrent of hope, a persistent faith in God that seems to me to be a whole lot larger than a mustard seed.

In today’s second selection from Lamentations, despite the deep shadows, the terrible losses, all the bad news, we heard this:

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

One commentator compared the beautiful faith-filled poetry of Lamentations to the traditional Jewish prayer on waking in the morning:

“I thank You, everliving King, who has mercifully restored my soul within me; ample is your grace.”

With God, even in a time of lengthening shadows, there is always the promise of renewal.

As you know, today’s rain has prevented us from having our Blessing of the Animals service, a service offered in honor of Francis of Assisi, but I’d still like to say a few words about him.

Francis is often depicted as a kind of of adorable oddball, preaching to the birds, commanding a wolf to stop terrorizing people. So, we stick him out in the birdbath, bless the animals once a year, and that’s about it. 

But he’s there’s much more to his story.

Francis was born in Italy in either 1180 or 1181 and grew up in a well-to-do family - his father was a successful silk merchant. As a youth, Francis was high-spirited and popular, enjoying the finer things of life. 

When Francis was about 20, he joined a military expedition against a neighboring city. He was taken prisoner and held for a year, which must have been a traumatic experience, probably causing him to lose his taste for chivalry and combat and to turn his attention toward God.

The story goes that one day he was praying in a ruined chapel when suddenly he heard the voice of Jesus calling to him from a crucifix, saying:

“Francis, Francis, go and repair my church which, as you can see, is falling into ruins.”

Reasonably enough, Francis interpreted this as a buildings and grounds problem and so he went and secretly sold some of his father’s cloth and gave the money to the priest to repair the chapel, money the priest refused to accept by the way.

But, of course, Jesus was calling Francis to something much bigger and more important than fixing up a falling-down chapel.

Francis lived in a time of lengthening shadows, days when the Church had largely lost its way, more interested in worldly wealth and power than in following Jesus of Nazareth who called his followers to give away their possessions – Jesus who had no home of his own.

So, with faith far larger than a mustard seed, Francis took Jesus at his word, gave away everything that he had, celebrated God’s good creation, and proclaimed the Good News with words, yes, but through his life, most of all.

And, maybe most amazing of all, people responded to Francis’s vision – they continue to respond to Francis’ vision - which was always really just Jesus’ vision of the God’s kingdom where the poor and the hungry and the mourners are the ones truly blessed. 

With God, even in a time of shadow, there is always the promise of renewal.

When Jesus says to his disciples, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed…” it’s not clear if he’s criticizing them (“You don’t even have that tiny amount of faith!”), or if he’s encouraging them (“Even your tiny faith can do amazing things!”)

I’m going with option two – and I think you should, too!

Because in a time of lengthening shadows, when there is much to mourn and much to fear, often it’s hard to have faith even the size of a mustard seed, I know.

And yet, while we could let the shadows overcome us, we here at St. Thomas’ during this season of renewal have an undercurrent of hope, a persistent faith in God and faith in the future, like the poets who wrote Lamentations, like Francis who took Jesus at his word.

There’s the devoted team that worked at offering hospitality to Afghan refugees and has now welcomed Hizbullah to our community, helping him as he builds a new life here.

There are all the people who keep donating diapers and other hygiene products to our Bottoms Up program, giving it all away to clients at the Community Crisis Center, people we’ll never know and who won’t be able to thank us.

There are all the parishioners zooming into weekly Bible study, puzzling over ancient texts, trusting that God still has something to say to us through these old stories.

There are the parents bringing their children here for Sunday School. True, it’s no longer the thing that everybody just does, but these parents are convinced that this is an important preparation – an essential foundation - for their kids’ lives, especially for the inevitable hard times.

I don’t know how to measure faith, if it’s bigger or smaller than a mustard seed. All I know is that God is doing amazing things through us.

So, just like that, it’s October.

The shadows are lengthening and the news is often grim indeed.

But, like our spiritual ancestors, we know that, with God, even in a time of lengthening shadows, there is always the promise of renewal.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

Amen.

A Cohesive Renewal

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 18, 2022

Year C, Proper 20: The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1

Psalm 79:1-9

1 Timothy 2:1-7

Luke 16:1-13

A Cohesive Renewal

Now, I’m not interested in making anyone feel bad, but if you missed our Renewal Sunday celebrations last week, well, you missed something pretty special.

Thanks to the hard work, dedication, creativity, and generosity of so many of our parishioners and our church staff, we had quite a time here.

The rain did not dampen our joy. In fact, as I ad-libbed last week, the rain actually fit in perfectly with the theme of the day.

After all, there can be no renewal without water – both the water of baptism and the water that falls from the sky and waters the earth, including the new trees planted outside in honor of Rev. Ann and Rev. Caroline.

Several parishioners mentioned that our indoor parish picnic felt a lot like old times – so many of us together, so much joy in the room, enjoying good food and drink – including the tasty frozen desserts served by our own ice cream man, Bob Brennen!

As you can probably guess, the only thing that might have made me happier is if we had a baptism or two!

During the past week, it’s been gratifying to receive so much positive feedback about the day – how beautiful the music was, how great the Sunday School room looks, and how appropriate it was that we had a service project, creating gift bags for the hardworking teachers at Owings Mills Elementary School.

My favorite comment came from a parishioner who said that the whole day was “cohesive.”

I love that because that was exactly the idea – that the theme of “renewal” would pervade our entire day, from our worship to the party, just as we hope and pray that God will renew our entire church, that God will renew our entire world, that God will renew our entire lives.

A cohesive renewal.

After such a great day last week, I would have really liked today’s gospel lesson to be the kind of Bible passage that would make our hearts sing.

But, instead, we are given one of Jesus’ most difficult and troubling parables, a real head-scratcher that’s sometimes called the Parable of the Dishonest Manager.

We’re told that there was a rich man and this rich man has been informed that his manager has been “squandering his property.”

We don’t know exactly what this “squandering” was – and, for that matter, we don’t know for sure if these charges are even true – we can all imagine scenarios where someone might come up with a false accusation to get rid of the manager.

But, guilty or not, the manager sees the writing on the wall.

And he knows himself well enough to know that he’s not cut out for manual labor and he’s too proud to beg.

So, thinking and moving fast, the manager goes to a couple of people indebted to the rich man and slashes what they owe, hoping that when he’s out of work and out of a home, they will look kindly on him and help him out.

Exactly what’s happening here is unclear.

It could be that the manager is eliminating his commission – which wouldn’t be dishonest – or maybe he’s falsifying the rich man’s records, which, uh, would be dishonest – true to the character a manager who had been “squandering” the rich man’s property.

But then things take some unexpected turns.

First, the rich man commends the manager for his shrewdness.

That’s hard to figure out.

But, even more puzzling, Jesus seems to approve as well, suggesting that if his followers – “the children of light” – are shrewd like the manager then we will be welcomed into “the eternal homes.”

OK.

Well, since we have rad other parts of the Bible, we can be sure that Jesus is not teaching us to cheat or to be dishonest.

But, I think that this rather confusing parable is another way for Jesus to say that his disciples should be “as wise as serpents and as innocent as doves.”

We live in a world of limited resources, a world of dollars and cents, a world where our budgets – our personal budget – our church budget – our national budget – are all in fact moral documents, revealing what we truly value, and what we don’t value very much at all.

We need to be savvy with what we have – to not squander and certainly not cheat like the manager may have – but use our resources carefully, building wealth so that we can do the most good that we can. 

And, this week’s news provided a real-life example of what Jesus might have in mind for us: the outdoor clothing company, Patagonia.

Since it was founded by a counter-cultural rock climber Yvon Chouinard in 1973, Patagonia has been in the lead in using organic materials, providing day care for children of employees, and being good caretakers of the environment.

Not being outdoorsy myself, I don’t think I’ve ever bought or worn a Patagonia product, but people seem to really like their stuff because the company has been hugely successful, making its founder a billionaire, apparently much to his dismay.

Just recently, he and his family worked out a complicated plan to transfer their ownership of the company, worth about $3 billion, to a trust and nonprofit organization.

Putting this together took a lot of shrewdness – I don’t pretend to understand it all – and some skeptics think it’s just a clever way for the family to avoid a big tax bill, but it sure looks like this clever family has sacrificed great wealth to ensure that Patagonia will stay true to its principles, using all of its profits to fight climate change and protect sensitive lands around the world.

So, I don’t know if the skeptics are right or not, but the positive interpretation of what they’re doing really is like what Jesus has in mind: be clever and make money, yes, sure, but then use that wealth for good.

So, next Sunday will be the start of our Stewardship Campaign here at St. Thomas’.

And, you know that this place has been long blessed with significant financial resources, and at least as important, we’re also blessed with savvy and clever people who take good care of what has been entrusted to us, allowing me to sleep quite well, actually.

  I won’t be preaching next week, so I want to say this today:

My hope is that the cohesive renewal that is happening at St. Thomas’ will include all of us taking a prayerful and thoughtful look at our budgets, our budgets which tell us what we really value and we don’t value all that much.

My hope is that our cohesive renewal will include us reflecting on just how blessed we are, how much we have to be grateful for.

In my case, especially after last week, I’m not kidding when I say that I’ve got to be the most fortunate priest in the Episcopal Church!

And I hope that our cohesive renewal will inspire us to be as generous as we can with this amazing church, moving us beyond depending so much on the wealth left behind by others, renewing the sense that this is our church and we are responsible for taking care of it, providing the resources to do the work that God has given us to do, providing the resources for the future ministries that God is preparing for us as we speak.  

So, may God continue to renew this old church.

May God give us the gift of a cohesive renewal.

Amen. 

The God of Renewal

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

September 11, 2022

Year C, Proper 19: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Renewal Sunday

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28

Psalm 14

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

The God of Renewal

I’ve mentioned to you before that I really like taking early morning walks along the NCR Trail, about a twenty minute drive from here.

And when you follow the same route day after day, you start to notice small changes, things that might escape the eye of someone who was walking along there for the first time.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that just a few gold and brown leaves were beginning to fall, beginning to dot the trail under my feet.

By now, there are leaves along the trail, lots of leaves have fallen all over the place, including here around the church, where they will soon become a nearly daily challenge for our sextons, Ricky and Chris.

And we all know what’s to come.

Soon enough most of the trees will be bare, standing starkly against the sky.

Our part of the world will lose much of its color, growing colder, at times seeming almost lifeless.

You won’t be surprised to know that we have a herd of deer that spend a lot of time around the rectory. Now, I know how many of you feel about deer! But, since Sue and I are not exactly avid gardeners, we enjoy seeing them, especially the three fawns who love to run and bounce all around but still usually stick close to mom.

For now, at least, it’s a kind deer paradise over there. But I’ve wondered what the fawns will make of their first fall and winter, their first touch of coldness, the time when the grass and foliage are much less abundant, the time they feel the first pangs of hunger, loss, and fear.

I don’t know what a young deer thinks about any of this – or if they do think about it – but I wouldn’t be surprised if they might just assume that this is the way it’s going to be forever.

But, we – even those of us who are not avid gardeners – we know better.

We know that, while everything seems cold and quite dead, in fact new life is being prepared in secret, just waiting to rise again, like Jesus freed from the tomb on the first Easter morning.

God is the God of Renewal.

We see the God of Renewal at work in nature, and if we’ve been around for any length of time, we have all experienced the God of Renewal at work in our lives, during the times when suffering seems just too great to endure.

We encounter the God of Renewal at work during times of lost-ness, when it feels like we have lost too many or too much, when we can no longer see clearly the way forward, when it sure feels like all hope is lost.

And yet we discover strength we didn’t know we possessed – we receive help from friends we didn’t even know we had – we receive the grace of courage and fortitude that only God can give – we were lost but now we are found.

I’m mindful that, in the midst of our day of celebration, this is also a solemn day, as we recall the terror attacks on our nation twenty-one years ago.

And yet, those of us who remember that terrible day and the frightening and uncertain days that followed, also remember the spirit of goodwill that bloomed here in our land and throughout much of the world.

As it happens, it was Queen Elizabeth II who offered some of the wisest words during that terrible time of lost-ness, wisdom that has stuck with me. The Queen who, despite her great privilege, knew something about loss, reminded us that, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

And, whenever I read or hear that quote, I can almost hear St. Paul adding, “Love never ends.”

Especially in times of lost-ness and loss, God is always at work, offering us love, renewing the love between and among us.

All of us have been through a time of lost-ness over these past couple of years.

Venerable Institutions and norms of behavior that once seemed rock solid, have been revealed as shockingly wobbly, in decline, unreliable, and rejected by many.

We have endured a pandemic that stunned us, forcing us to face our fragility and limitations – a pandemic that took precious lives from us - a pandemic that forced us to take steps previously unthinkable, like keeping the church doors closed on Sunday, keeping the doors closed for many Sundays.

But, just like the shepherd who, let’s face it, kind of crazily leaves the 99 to go search for the one lost sheep, just like the woman who relentlessly cleans her home until she finds that one lost coin, the God of Renewal does not give up on us.

In a time of so much suffering and loss, God has remained at work, opening our hearts to be even more loving and generous, giving us courage to keep going even when we double-masked and fanatically sanitized our shopping carts and grocery bags.

And you know that the God of Renewal has been working overtime here at St. Thomas’!

I first fell in love with this church when I heard how, back in the early days of the pandemic, some of you made masks and hung them up on the parish hall door so that anyone in the community – people we don’t know and will never know – could have some comfort and safety.

The God of Renewal has been working overtime at St. Thomas’, lifting up exceptional lay leaders, especially Tony Seville and Jesse VanGeison who held this place together during a long and occasionally contentious time between rectors.

The God of Renewal has been working overtime at St. Thomas’, sending us two wonderful old friends, two loving shepherds, Ann Copp and Caroline Stewart, who we thank and honor in a special way today.

And, for the past 14 months or so, I’ve seen the God of Renewal hard at work here at St. Thomas’ – as people who had left for a time have made there way back to us, as new people have taken the big step of crossing that well-worn threshold into this old holy place.

The God of Renewal has been at work as lay people take turns leading Bible discussions on Zoom, as a determined group persisted in the dream of offering hospitality to people from Afghanistan, a dream that seemed almost out of reach until just last week when at last we welcomed our brother Hizbullah to our community.

The God of Renewal has been at work as we created a beautiful new website, a website which in just its first week has already drawn at least one new newcomer to our church!

Even for the God of Renewal, this is all pretty amazing, wouldn’t you say?

Both of today’s parables end with celebration.

After the shepherd finds the lost sheep and after the woman finds her lost coin, they don’t keep their joy to themselves. No, they invite people over for a party to celebrate that what was lost has been found, that hope has been renewed.

So, that’s what we’re doing here today on Renewal Sunday.

And, since for us Christians, renewal begins in the water of Baptism, in a moment we will renew our baptismal promises.

And, here’s the thing. If, with God’s help, we continue to take these big baptismal promises seriously, then the God of Renewal will continue to use this old church - God will continue to use us - to renew our weary and worn world, from Owings Mills to Baltimore City and beyond.

So the young fawns frolicking around the rectory may not know it – and, especially in moments of loss and fear, we may forget it – but God is the God of Renewal.

Amen.

The Cost and the Blessing of Discipleship for Philemon and for Us

St. Thomas’ Church, Owings Mills MD

September 4, 2022

Year C, Proper 18: The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 18:1-11

Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17

Philemon 1-21

Luke 14:25-33

The Cost and the Blessing of Discipleship for Philemon and for Us

In today’s Gospel lesson, we’re told that, “large crowds were traveling with Jesus.”

I suspect that these large crowds were following Jesus because they had seen or heard about his healings, maybe even his Sabbath healings, like the time Jesus set free the bent-over woman and she stood up straight!

Maybe these large crowds were following Jesus because they wanted to see more of these wonder works, or maybe they longed for healing for themselves or for those they loved.

Or maybe the large crowds were attracted to Jesus’ parables, the strange and challenging stories that opened new ways of looking at the world and new ways of thinking about God, stories that must have kept people scratching their heads for days.

Now, most normal religious leaders, present company included, would want to hold onto these big numbers – to keep growing the church, let’s say.

But, as we heard today, rather than trying to please the crowd, rather than sugarcoating his message, Jesus instead offers some hard words, some difficult teaching.

Jesus warns that there is a cost to following him – a cost that should be carefully calculated before making the decision to follow Jesus.

Now, it’s true that God’s grace is free – there’s nothing we could ever do to earn or buy God’s grace.

But there is a cost.

The cost is how we respond to grace.

There is a cost to putting Jesus first, ahead of even our closest family attachments, ahead of all our worldly goods.

There is a cost to keeping our baptismal promises – a cost to proclaiming the Good News in word and example – a cost to loving our neighbor as our self – a cost to striving for justice and peace among all people – a cost to respecting the dignity of every human being.

Grace is free, but there is a cost to following Jesus – a cost for us today and a cost for disciples two thousand years ago.

Like, for example, a man named Philemon, who, as we heard in today’s second lesson, once received quite a remarkable letter from St. Paul.

 In this short letter, we get a glimpse of Paul conducting some business. It’s a personal  - but not quite private – letter. Paul addresses it to Philemon and to others in his household.

It’s a letter that was valued and saved and shared by early Christians and eventually ended up in the New Testament.

And, it’s a letter that gives us a glimpse of the cost of following Jesus.

So let’s try to unpack what’s going on here.

Paul is writing to a man named Philemon and he’s writing about one of Philemon’s slaves, Onesimus – a name which means “useful.”

Now, before I continue, I want to mention that unlike the way slavery was practiced in our country, slavery in the ancient world was generally not a dehumanizing institution. Slaves were very much still seen as people and some even rose to prominent positions. Slaves were not necessarily slaves forever. But, having said that, it was still better to be free than to be a slave.

So, as we read Paul’s letter – and, of course, unfortunately we only have one side of this correspondence – we learn that Philemon’s slave Onesimus has been serving Paul while the apostle has been in prison.

Notice the wordplay on the name Onesimus. Paul writes, “Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me.”

We’re not told how or why Onesimus ended up serving Paul. 

Maybe Philemon had loaned out his slave – or, maybe, Onesimus had run away and gone to Paul for safe harbor.

We just don’t know how it all went down, but the slave Onesimus has been with Paul, and he has become a Christian. 

And now Paul is writing to Philemon – who is also a Christian - with a big ask.

But, because Paul is being so indirect we don’t know exactly what he’s asking.

It could be that Paul is asking Philemon to let Onesimus stay with him indefinitely.

It could be that Paul is asking Philemon to forgive Onesimus whatever he’s done and welcome him back.

Or, it could be that Paul is asking Philemon to free Onesimus – to welcome him back not as a slave but as a beloved brother in Christ.

So, we don’t know exactly what’s going on but we know it’s a big ask because Paul lays it on pretty thick. Listen to this again:

“…though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love – and I, Paul, do this as an old man, and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus.”

And there’s this:

“So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has wronged you in any way, charge that to my account.”

And, finally:

“Confident of your obedience, I am writing to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say.”

And, that’s it.

We don’t know how Philemon responded.

But, we do know that Paul’s appeal to either forgive or free Onesimus forced Philemon to face the cost of discipleship.

So, the other day someone asked me how I was doing, after just a little more than a year as your rector.

I answered that I feel like the most fortunate priest in the Episcopal Church.

There are a lot of reasons why I feel so blessed, but the most important one is that so many of you – so many people here at St. Thomas’ - are so often willing to pay the cost of discipleship, with God’s help, of course.

Two examples:

Since before I arrived, Bob Kenyon has been eager to overhaul our church website, generously willing to use a lot of his own time and expertise to get the job done.

A few months ago, Bob and I put together a small committee with Margaret Green and Sana Brooks, along with Sara Hollands, who has added parish communications to her children and youth responsibilities.

Week after week we met, poring over every word, learning new technology, carefully choosing each picture, prayerfully striving to create something both beautiful and useful, a site that would let hungry people out there know that we’ve got the Best Food right here, and they are all welcome to feast with us. 

When you visit the website, I think you ‘ll see and feel the love and the care and the time and the effort – the sacrifice - that went into creating it.

The cost = and the blessing - of discipleship.

Second example:

One day about a year ago, Louis Hogan and I were having lunch. Our conversation turned to the chaos then unfolding in Afghanistan, as people – especially many people who had assisted our country – desperately tried to flee. 

We might have just left it at sadness and disgust, or even talked about donating some money to organizations that were trying to help these people. But instead, Louis wondered if maybe we could actually welcome Afghan refugees here, sacrificing some of our own space, sacrificing some of our own comfort, to do something really generous for at least a few people who had lost so much.

Well, many of you know what happened next.

We assembled a group of talented parishioners who looked long and hard at the assistant’s house. Others, especially Betsy Wilmerding and Page Seville, spent countless hours learning the byzantine rules of refugee resettlement. We made friends and formed partnerships with people in other organizations and congregations.

And we hit more obstacles than we can or would ever want to remember.

So much time, talent, and treasure.

So much patience and faithfulness.

So much sacrifice.

And now, after nearly a year of planning and waiting, a young Afghan man, sponsored by us and our partners, will be arriving in our community on Tuesday afternoon.

The cost – and the blessing - of discipleship.

Amen.

But, wait, don’t you really want to know what Philemon chose to do?

Well, there are two tantalizing clues.

In the Letter to the Colossians, a Christian named… Onesimus is mentioned in passing. We’re told he’s on his way to Colossae.

And there’s also a very old tradition that Onesimus was not only freed by Philemon, but went on to become a bishop in the city of Ephesus and later gave his life for his faith.

Do we know any of this for sure?

No, we don’t.

But, since Paul’s letter was saved and made it into the Bible, I like to think that, yes, at least in this case, Philemon was willing to pay the high cost of following Christ – that he accepted the cost – and received the blessing – of discipleship.

May the same be true for us.

And, now, for real this time: Amen!

The Heavenly Banquet, Right Here and Right Now

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

August 28, 2022

Year C, Proper 17: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 2:4-13

Psalm 81:1, 10-16

Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Luke 14:1, 7-14

The Heavenly Banquet, Right Here and Right Now

So, have I mentioned to you how much I love baptizing people?

No, it’s true.

And while I think every Baptism is really joyful, I have to say that our two Baptisms last Sunday were just off the charts joyful. 

The two children, Teddy and Lily, are adorable – and, by the way, they remained nearly silent during the service.

And Teddy and Lily were surrounded by so much love from the family and friends gathered around them here in person, and from those tuning in via live stream across the pond in Ireland and England.

The choir has special connections with both children, so the music was even more beautiful than usual, if you can imagine that.

Just like at every Baptism, there were some big promises made and renewed.

We pledged to resist evil and to repent when we sin.

We vowed to proclaim by word and example the Good News – to seek and serve Christ in absolutely everybody, loving our neighbor as our self – to strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.

They really are big promises, promises that can only be kept with God’s help.

But, as I reflected on today’s gospel lesson, I kept hearing the words of one of the baptismal promises – one that maybe doesn’t sound quite so big or so difficult.

We promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.

With God’s help, of course.

If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that we heard the story of Jesus healing the bent-over woman in the synagogue on what must have been a most memorable Sabbath morning.

The leader of the synagogue was unhappy with Jesus, arguing that this kind of healing – this kind of work – should not be done on the Sabbath.

Well, today’s gospel lesson is also set during the Sabbath, but rather than being in the synagogue, this time Jesus has been invited to the home of a leader of the Pharisees for a meal.

Luke tells us that the other guests – maybe other Pharisees – were watching Jesus closely, which sounds kind of ominous, especially since we know that the Pharisees are usually depicted as opposing Jesus.

Then again, wouldn’t we keep our eyes on Jesus if we were sitting at the table with him?

We didn’t get to hear it in today’s selection, but right after we’re told that Jesus was at the home of the Pharisee leader, he heals someone again – yes, once again on the Sabbath!

So, this Sabbath healing on top of last week’s incident might make us expect that this meal is about to be spoiled by hostility and conflict.

But, probably wisely, the Pharisees don’t comment on Jesus healing on the Sabbath.

Instead, Jesus takes the initiative and offers some teaching for both guests and hosts.

Guests, don’t take the best seats for yourself because someone more important may come along and you’ll be forced to move and won’t that be embarrassing!

Hosts, don’t invite people who can repay your hospitality, but instead invite the poor and the weak – only invite the people who can never repay your hospitality.

Now, Jesus isn’t some kind of divine Emily Post, teaching us about etiquette!

No, Jesus is pointing to the heavenly banquet where we will all gather around the table, where the poor and the suffering and the humble will get the best seats.

And Jesus is suggesting that we don’t have to wait until we’re dead to feast at the heavenly banquet – the heavenly banquet is already underway right here and right now, and, as the author of the Letter to the Hebrews writes – we can entertain angels right here and now.

Now, some of you may think that I lived my whole life in New Jersey before moving here last year.

But, actually that’s not true.

About a decade ago, Sue and I spent a year in Gainesville, Florida, where I served as rector of a small church and the Episcopal chaplain at the University of Florida.

Since we were ministering to college students who, during the weekend at least, are not known to be early risers, our Sunday service at the university chapel was later in the day – at 5:00, I think.

We usually had a pretty good turnout for the service, in part because each week, parishioners from local Episcopal churches would provide a hot, homemade meal that we enjoyed after the service.

Since the food was always good and lovingly prepared and generously served, the word got out. And so, in addition to the students, we were joined by an interesting assortment of other hungry people – some were homeless or close to it – some were a little smelly and unkempt – some seemed to have no one else in their life so this was their one chance each week to break bread with others, to enjoy lively and friendly conversation.

I might have predicted that the students would resent these other guests, or that they would be uncomfortable or even afraid, but that was not the case at all.

We put several tables together into a T-shape, so there was no place was more or less prominent than any other.

And as we all sat around the table together, as we all enjoyed the food and each other, I remember looking around and thinking that this is what Jesus calls us to – that this is entertaining angels without knowing it – that this is a little taste of the heavenly banquet, right here and right now.

When I prepare people for Baptism – usually parents who want to have their children baptized, I go over the big promises that they will be making.

When we get to the promise to “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers” I usually sum that one up as a promise to be here with us in church – where we certainly do get a taste of the heavenly banquet.

But, you know, over the centuries the church – not just St. Thomas’ but the whole church – has so ritualized what we do here – constructing special buildings with seating that, if not reserved, often feels that way – we’ve formalized things so much that we’ve moved a long way from the kind of banquet that Jesus taught about on that long ago Sabbath at the Pharisee’s house.

So, the promise to break bread together is not only a promise to make it our business to be here on Sunday but also to share our table with other people, all sorts of people, especially the poor and the weak, the people who can never repay our hospitality.

You know, when we were developing the new website, we gave a lot of thought to answering questions that a newcomer might have before coming here some Sunday:

Can I wear any kind of clothes or do I need to dress up?

Can I sit anywhere or are certain places reserved for certain people?

Will I be welcomed if I look or sound different than everybody else?

Maybe some of you had questions like that before you came here.

And, while there’s always room for improvement, I think we actually do a pretty good job at welcoming all different kinds of people – more welcoming than people out there might think.

But, you know, Jesus called the Pharisee to a deeper hospitality.

And Jesus calls us to a deeper hospitality, too.

So, my hope is that, in this time of renewal, we’ll look for ways to be even more welcoming here on Sundays.

And, I also hope that we’ll look for other ways to break bread together – maybe in our big parish hall that sits empty most evenings - to open our doors not just to parishioners, but maybe to the Stevenson students just down the road, to anyone who is hungry for food and companionship.

My hope is that we won’t just deliver food to hungry people but actually sit and eat with them, to get to know them and to let them get to know us.

That can be uncomfortable and even scary, believe me I know.

But just like the students and other guests in Gainesville, Florida, we’re all invited to break bread together at the heavenly banquet right here and right now, where we are likely to entertain angels without knowing it.

May it be so.

Amen.