The Unbinding

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 26, 2023

Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

The Unbinding

Well, the holy season of Lent is really winding down now.

Ready or not, Palm Sunday is next week.

And in just two weeks, we’ll gather with Mary Magdalene outside the empty tomb and celebrate the great joy of Easter.

These last Lenten days are still about repentance – and there’s always time to take on a new practice or give up something that separates us from God – but now we’re clearly turning our attention to what God always offers us:

New life.

In our Old Testament lesson, we heard a passage from the Prophet Ezekiel.

Ezekiel lived during the 6th Century BCE, a time of defeat and exile for the people of Israel, a time when for many it seemed like all hope was lost. 

But, as we heard, God offers Ezekiel vivid vision of new life.

God leads Ezekiel into a valley of dry bones, of very dry bones – a place of death, a land without hope.

In such a bleak place, God asks Ezekiel what must have seemed a bizarre question:

“Mortal, can these bones live?”

Ezekiel gives the only sensible reply: “O Lord God, you know.”

And then, while we might have expected God to simply do the work of creating new life, instead God calls Ezekiel to prophesy – to prophesy to these dry bones – to prophesy to the breath – and with lots of rattling, suddenly there was new life – and the promise of even more new life to come.

The call to new life.

In last week’s gospel lesson, we heard the story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind.

And now today, in yet another lengthy reading from the Gospel of John, we heard the story of an even greater sign – perhaps Jesus’ greatest sign of all – a sign of new life – a call to new life – Jesus raises his beloved friend Lazarus from the dead.

There’s a lot going on here, isn’t there?

The story begins with Jesus acting in a kind of curious way. He’s received word that Lazarus is ill. But rather than rushing to Bethany to be at his friend’s side, rather than trying to get to Lazarus as quickly as possible to offer healing, Jesus postpones the trip for two days.

Right from the start, Jesus recognizes that this isn’t so much about Lazarus and his illness, just like last week’s story wasn’t so much about the blind man.

No, the man’s blindness and Lazarus’ death provide an opportunity for signs – for signs of God’s glory.

As usual, the disciples don’t exactly distinguish themselves in this story. Except for Thomas, they’re afraid to go to Judea – John writes that they were afraid of “the Jews” who had tried to kill Jesus.

This provides yet another opportunity for a reminder that Jesus and his disciples were all Jews – and back in the first century, some Jews followed Jesus and others did not, and some among the Jewish leadership saw Jesus as a threat. 

Anyway, Jesus finally arrives at the sad scene – and we learn that he’s certainly too late to save Lazarus, who’s been in the tomb four days now – this is no deep coma. He’s really dead.

Mary and Martha are understandably grief-stricken at the death of their brother, but even in their sadness they express some faith in Jesus. They believe that if the Lord had been there, Lazarus would still be alive.

But surely the only hope now is the resurrection on the last day.

Gathered with Mary and Martha and the others, this is one of those moments when Jesus expresses deep emotion. 

Even if Jesus is certain about what’s about to happen, it’s hard to witness so much suffering and sadness, especially among some of your closest friends.

And maybe Jesus heard some of the grumbling that if he could give sight to the blind surely he could have healed whatever ailed Lazarus.

And maybe Jesus’ emotion is also, in part, frustration – frustration at his disciples who never seem to get it no matter how many times he teaches them – frustration even at the grief-stricken Mary and Martha, with whom he was so close and yet he still had to tell them, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Well, in the midst of so much emotion, and after a brief prayer, Jesus gives the shocking command to roll away the stone.

And then, there’s the even more shocking call to the dead man to come out of his tomb.

The call to new life.

This sign is not just for Lazarus and everyone else gathered around his tomb two thousand years ago, but it’s a sign for us here today, a sign that Jesus offers new life – calls us to new life - not just on the last day but right here and right now.

And then there is one last little detail that’s easy to miss.

After raising Lazarus from the dead, Jesus tells “them” to unbind Lazarus and let him go.

And who exactly is “them”?

Well, in this case, “them” would be “us.”

There are half-dead people all around us who are bound, bound just as Lazarus was bound – bound by fear and despair, bound by illness and addiction, bound by regret and hate.

But, right here and now, Jesus offers new life.

And Jesus invites us to be part of the liberation, to unbind people from the constraints of suffering and death, to set them free.

The call to new life.

And what does that look like here at St. Thomas’?

Well, it’s our many outreach efforts, of course.

It’s welcoming our Afghan friends.

It’s reaching out to one another, people we know are going through a hard time, or maybe people we haven’t seen for a while.

And, most of all, we play our part in unbinding people from the constraints of suffering and death through our prayers.

When I was a seminarian I served for a time at a church called House of Prayer. It’s an Episcopal church, though it doesn’t sound like it, right?

It’s my all time favorite church name because it is nearly impossible for the people of House of Prayer to forget what’s most important – that we are meant to be people of prayer, that we are meant to continue bathing these old walls with our prayers.

I’ve been thinking about prayer more than usual because of the changes we’re making to our Parish Prayer List – that weekly reminder of just how many people are counting on our prayers.

And I’ve also been thinking about prayer more than usual because so many people have been asking for my prayers – prayers for healing, prayers for a good prognosis, prayers for a way when there seems to be no way.

And with all of these prayer requests, with all of this desire for prayer, have you ever wondered about the how and why of prayer?

I mean, God already knows what’s best for us, right?

So why pray?

Our friend Sam Shoemaker said, “Prayer may not change things for you, but it sure changes you for things.”

I like that.

But my favorite explanation about prayer comes from Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury.

God could just go it alone, just be a solo act, but Williams suggests that this isn’t God’s way – that just like God called Ezekiel to prophesy to the old dry bones, just like Jesus called “them” to unbind Lazarus, God wants us to pray, so that we can be part of the grace, part of the blessing. 

Lent is drawing to a close, but, no matter the season, God always calls us to new life.

And especially in a time when so many people are bound in so many ways, God invites us to be part of the unbinding, through our works – and through our prayers.

Amen.

To See as God Sees

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 19, 2023

Year A: The Fourth Sunday in Lent

1 Samuel 16:1-13

Psalm 23

Ephesians 5:8-14

John 9:1-41

To See as God Sees

Back in the early 1990’s, I taught history at St. Vincent Academy, an all-girls Roman Catholic high school in Newark, New Jersey.

The Sisters of Charity founded St. Vincent’s back in the 19th Century to educate the Catholic girls of Newark and the surrounding towns.

In the late 1960s, after years of factory closings and white flight to the suburbs and especially after the 1967 uprising that devastated much of the city, particularly the area around St. Vincent’s called the Central Ward, the Sisters and their lay co-workers faced a choice:

To stay in the wounded city, continuing to educate Newark’s girls, or to close or move, like many other institutions of the city.

With great faithfulness and courage, and to their eternal credit, the leaders of St. Vincent’s chose to stay, and have been there ever since.

Fast-forward to sometime around late 1991 or early 1992.

I had applied for a position as a history teacher, a midyear replacement for a teacher who had gotten sick.

On the day of my job interview, I remember riding the bus from Newark Penn Station up to the school. I remember looking out the window and seeing the urban mix: a still bustling but frayed around the edges downtown, a fairly new and still shiny community college, a stately old courthouse - but also block after block of vast rubble-strewn lots with a few crumbling houses here and there.

Not for the last time in my life, I wondered what I was getting myself into! 

Eventually the bus rounded the corner and there was St. Vincent’s, a red brick 19th Century building up on a small rise, looking like a well cared-for sanctuary, or maybe better, a beacon - shining hope - shining the light of Christ into the suffering city.

During that long-ago day of interviews and meetings, I spent a lot of time with one of the school’s administrators, Sister June.

It’s all mostly a blur to me now, but I do recall that at one point Sister June said that I must always remember that each of my students, each of these girls, was absolutely precious to at least someone – a parent or a grandparent, someone.

Sister June said that should be the way that I saw my students: as precious, as loved.

June didn’t put it quite this way but what she was really saying was that I should see my students as God sees them.

To see as God sees.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, Samuel learned something about seeing as God sees.

Samuel had been given an important assignment: to anoint a new king.

This task was made even more challenging and difficult by the fact that the old king, Saul, was still alive and on the throne.

Anyway, God sent Samuel to anoint one of Jesse’s sons as new king.

Reasonably enough, Jesse presents his sons in age order, starting with the oldest. He’d be the expected choice and he certainly seems to look the part.

But God says no – God keeps saying no until there are no more sons left. Oh, wait, there is the youngest, David, such an unlikely choice that he had been left out in the field tending the sheep.

Surely, he won’t be king, right?

To see as God sees.

And then today’s lengthy and rich gospel lesson is all about seeing – and not seeing.

We begin with the disciples noticing the man born blind who was forced to beg, but they don’t see him as a person but only as a consequence of sin.

But that’s not how Jesus sees him – he sees him as a way for God’s glory to shine.

So, without the blind man even asking for healing – I mean, who would even dare to hope for such a thing – Jesus gives this man the gift of sight.

The formerly blind can now see the world around him.

The formerly blind man sees that God has worked a powerful sign in and through Jesus.

And by the end of the story, the formerly blind man sees so well that he has become a disciple.

As for the other characters in this story, well, their vision is not so good.

The neighbors, which have probably never paid much mind to this blind beggar – he was probably just part of the background of their lives – they’re not quite sure that it’s the same man.

What did he look like anyway?

And then there are the Pharisees. Most (but not all) of them view this remarkable healing as… an opportunity to put Jesus on trial. They focus on a possible Sabbath violation while somehow missing the wonderful sign that has just occurred.

My God, a man born blind now can see!

The man’s parents do a little better. At least they know and admit that he’s their son. But then they kind of throw him under the bus (“Ask him, he is of age. He will speak for himself.”), supposedly because they feared the Jews, who would cast out any Jesus followers from the synagogue. 

Now, I have to pause right there and remind us that everyone in this story – Jesus, his disciples, the neighbors, the man born blind and his parents, the Pharisees – everyone in this story is a Jew.

We have to remember this because so often the Church has forgotten, and texts like this have been used to justify horrific anti-Semitism.

Especially as we get closer to Holy Week, we have to remember that the Gospels do not tell the story of Jews vs. Christians. No, this is a disagreement among first century Jews, some of whom will accept Jesus as the messiah, while others will not.

But the heart of today’s story isn’t really disagreement about healing on the Sabbath – it’s about sight – it’s about seeing as God sees.

And, as Christians, we don’t have to wonder about how God sees.

In and through Jesus, we know that God sees the Samaritan woman at the well, with her complicated past and unconventional present, an outcast from her own community, God sees her as precious.

In and through Jesus, we know that God sees the blind beggar as precious.

In and through Jesus, we know that God sees the girls of Newark, the kids of Baltimore, and children everywhere as precious.

And God invites us – commands us - to see as God sees.

So, to be totally honest with you, I’ve struggled with today’s sermon.

Today is the Fourth Sunday in Lent, often called “Laetare Sunday,” from a Latin word meaning “to rejoice.”

Today we switch liturgical colors from purple to rose as a signal that Lent is starting to wind down and soon we will once again experience the joy of Easter.

But, our country and world don’t seem so joyful these days, do they?

Most days, our country feels like it’s coming apart at the seams. Like the blind man's neighbors, we seem barely able to see each other at all, forget about seeing as God sees. The days ahead are going to be quite difficult. And, no matter our political point of view, how can we not dread the next presidential election?

I’ve struggled with today’s sermon because I don’t want it to sound like pie-in-the-sky church talk.

Seeing as God sees – to view each human being as absolutely precious and of infinite worth – this is not just some nice goal we should to aspire to.

No, seeing as God sees is essential to our survival.

And, despite our many troubles, I can still rejoice, at least a little, because I have learned that, with God’s help, it really is possible for us to see as God sees.

It’s a lesson I learned long ago in Newark, from sisters and their co-workers, who refused to give into fear.

Instead, they chose to stay and to teach and, most of all, to see as God sees.

Amen.

The Counter-Cultural Messiah

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 12, 2023

Year A: The Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 17:1-7

Psalm 95

Romans 5:1-11

John 4:5-42

The Counter-Cultural Messiah

As you probably know, March is Women’s History Month.

And, not only that, but this past Wednesday, March 8, was International Women’s Day.

And, especially this year, as women’s rights and safety are threatened both here in our country and in many places around the world, it was especially moving to see so many people on social media posting photos of women who have shaped history, or who have just touched our lives.

On Wednesday, on International Women’s Day, our friend Dawn Eden Goldstein, the author of Father Ed, posted a quote that caught my eye and that I’ve been thinking about ever since.

It’s not a quote from a woman, but by another 20th Century Jesuit priest, someone previously unknown to me.

Based in Louisiana, back in the middle part of the last century, Fr. Louis Twomey was active in the fight for social justice and civil rights. And here’s his quote that caught my eye:

“All of us must certainly regret the tragedy of even having to talk about human rights after two thousand years of Christianity.”

I’m going to repeat that:

“All of us must certainly regret the tragedy of even having to talk about human rights after two thousand years of Christianity.”

Those powerful and haunting words echoed through my head as I reflected on today’s extraordinary (and extraordinarily long) Gospel lesson: Jesus and his disciples are in Samaria, and, while the disciples are off getting food, Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman at a well.

Because of the famous parable, we tend to think of Samaritans as “good,” but that would not have been the general feeling among Jesus’ people.

There was longstanding tension between Jews and Samaritans. Although they shared some history and the first five books of the Bible, they disagreed about lots of things, especially worship.

But there’s Jesus, not only in Samaria, but alone with a Samaritan woman – and not just any Samaritan woman but one who, we learn, has a complicated marital history and, let’s say, an “irregular” current relationship with a man, a man who is not her husband.

There’s Jesus alone with a Samaritan woman who, it seems, is an outcast in her own community.

Generally, people in hot climates draw water from wells early in the morning or later in the day, not under the scorching midday sun.

And they travel in groups, both for safety and companionship.

But this woman is alone, and quite shocked and confused that this Jewish man has appeared, asking her for a drink.

When she understandably hesitates at the oddness of this situation and request, Jesus begins to reveal his identity to her. Jesus says:

“If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.’”

And I love her reply:

“Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water?”

In other words, “living water” is pretty big talk for a guy with no bucket who just asked a Samaritan woman for a drink.

But, unlike Nicodemus who we met last week, unlike that teacher and leader of Israel who came to Jesus under the cover of dark, this woman – this outcast woman – she doesn’t try to figure it all out. All she knows is that living water sounds really good, if for no other reason than it will save her this daily trip to the well.

Jesus then seems to play a little bit, telling her to go call her husband. But, when she answers honestly, Jesus doesn’t condemn her – he praises her honesty!

And when Jesus reveals even more about her situation, she doesn’t run away in shame or terror, but she remains – courageous – recognizing that she is in the presence of a prophet.

And then, there’s the most remarkable moment of all.

The woman said to Jesus, “I know that Messiah is coming.”

And Jesus said, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Right here, for the first time in the Gospel of John, Jesus reveals his true identity – not to his often-bumbling and confused disciples – not to the teacher and leader Nicodemus, but to a Samaritan woman – to an outcast several times over.

And what does she do with this information?

She doesn’t guard it like a secret.

She doesn’t hold it close like her own personal treasure. 

No, she immediately goes to the city, to a place probably filled with people who know her whole story and who have judged and disdained her, people who are glad that she goes to the well alone – she goes to the city and she testifies about Jesus. 

And, amazingly enough, a whole bunch of Samaritans, of all people, come to believe that Jesus is the Savior of the world.

What a story, right?

And, although this is an extraordinary encounter, it’s just one example of how countercultural Jesus lived his life and how he revealed God’s love.

The Good News wasn’t just for learned and powerful men like Nicodemus, but for everybody, very much including women – women like the Samaritan at the well – women like the sisters Mary and Martha – and, most of all, Mary Magdalene, who, on Easter morning, will echo the Samaritan woman when she rushes to tell the others that she had seen the Risen Lord.  

Knowing all that, it is such a tragedy that it didn’t take too long for the Church to conveniently forget its countercultural roots, to become so much like the culture around it. 

The Church quickly downplayed and restricted the roles of women.

The Church quickly forgot that we are meant to not only offer charity to the poor and the outcast but to welcome them into our community, to love them, and to share our greatest treasures with them.

Some of you may have seen the Christian TV commercials called “He Gets Us.” In certain circles, those ads caused quite a stir, a controversy which I’m definitely not getting into now.

However, at least one person noted that it’s not Jesus who needs a public relations overhaul – the Jesus who spoke with the Samaritan woman at the well – his reputation is just fine.

Not, it’s the Church that’s in trouble – the Church that forgot its countercultural roots and is now rejected by many for its hypocrisy, cruelty, its seeming irrelevance, and so many scandals.

But, just like Jesus and the Samaritan woman, we are not prisoners of our history. 

With God’s help, we can really put into practice our Baptismal Covenant – seeking and serving Christ in everybody – respecting the dignity of every human being – loving our neighbor – yes, even the Samaritans – as ourselves.

And, if we do that, maybe, someday, human rights will simply be a given, and there will be no need to talk about them again.

May it be so.

Amen.

The Journey to New Life

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

March 5, 2023

Year A: The Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a

Psalm 121

Romans 4:1-5, 13-17

John 3:1-17

The Journey to New Life

When you’re a professional church person like me, Sundays can often blend into each other. But last Sunday was one that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

First, we had a wonderful, and rather brisk, annual meeting. It was a time to share lots of good news – an opportunity to tell the story of renewal here at St. Thomas’.

So, that was great.

But then, on Sunday evening, a bunch of us attended a most beautiful supper, right here in our Parish Hall.

We had invited everyone who has been involved in the Afghan Project to enjoy a meal together – our own parishioners and the parishioners of St. Mark’s On the Hill – as well as members of the two local synagogues who are also sponsoring Afghans – and of course our new Afghan friends themselves.

Just like anytime you welcome guests – especially guests we don’t know well – there was some nervousness on our part.

We worried, were we serving the right kinds of food and would there be enough for everybody?

Since we come from different backgrounds and have different traditions, would we all get along OK? Would someone inadvertently say or do something offensive to others?

And, the biggest question of them all: would people actually show up?

Well, as usual, there was no cause for worry.

As I was concluding the 5:00 service, I glanced out the window and saw that our guests were pulling into the parking lot and making their way into the hall.

Everyone stuck on their nametags and began mixing and mingling, introducing themselves, and, over and over, marveling at how blessed we all have been to welcome strangers, to make new friends. 

There was lots of laughter echoing through the room and a gaggle of kids running around, having a blast.

The food was delicious and plentiful – there was even ice cream for dessert!

At one point, I looked around and thought, what a journey we have been on – a journey that has brought together Jews, Christians, and Muslims – a journey that gathered these children of Abraham to break bread in love and peace and gratitude.

Jesus often said, “The Kingdom of God is like…”

Well, the Kingdom of God is like our beautiful supper.

The Kingdom of God is like taking a journey together – a journey to new life.

In today’s first lesson, from the Book of Genesis, we heard the very beginning of our journey.

God issues a history-changing call and makes an eternal promise to Abram (later renamed Abraham). 

God’s call is a call to leave the familiarity and comfort of home and journey to an unknown land. God promises to bless Abram. God promises that Abram will be a blessing to uncountable multitudes.

Of course, the true miracle of the story is that Abram answers God’s call - he believes in God’s promise – and he makes the journey to new life.

And then in today’s gospel lesson, we meet someone else who is on the journey to new life: Nicodemus.

We’re told he’s a Pharisee – he’s a teacher and a leader among his people. And he’s someone who is drawn to Jesus – intrigued by this Teacher who has clearly been sent by God.

But, Nicodemus is not quite as bold as Abram – at least, not yet.

We’re told that he visits Jesus under the cover of night – maybe that’s because he’s afraid to be seen by others – maybe it’s because he’s been pondering Jesus all day and finally decided to go ask for himself – or maybe his night visit symbolizes that he’s still in the shadows of confusion and uncertainty.

I love this nighttime conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus, especially the Pharisee’s almost comical misunderstanding of what Jesus is saying.

Jesus speaks of rebirth and new life… and Nicodemus wonders how this might be possible.

The teacher Nicodemus seems unwilling or unable to learn. Even Jesus the Great Teacher does not get through to him, at least not yet.

If you read this passage carefully, you’ll see that eventually Nicodemus just sort of fades away. Maybe he was still there, silenced by all that he was hearing.

Or maybe he walked off, shaking his head in confusion, still wandering in the shadows, his journey continuing.

But, as Nicodemus fades away, Jesus begins teaching all of us.

He offers what has become the most famous and popular of all Bible verses – John 3:16 – a one-sentence summary of the Christian faith:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

And then that’s followed by John 3:17, which is just as important and should be just as well known:

“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Long ago, God issued a history-changing call to Abram – the call to leave the familiarity and comfort of home and journey to an unknown land.

God promised to bless Abram – and God promised that Abram will be a blessing to multitudes.

Abram answered God’s call – he believed in God’s promise – and he made the journey to new life.

God also called Nicodemus, drawing him from shadow to light – revealing that God loves the world and wants to save the world and not condemn it.

And I believe that in our time of trouble, when fear and hate and cruelty and violence are on the march, God is also calling us – not to leave Baltimore, necessarily, but to leave behind familiarity and comfort and to set out on a journey to new life.

God promises to bless us, and promises that we will be a blessing

And, you know, every once in a while we get a glimpse of our final destination, we get a taste of new life - like last Sunday evening, when the children of Abraham – Jews, Christians, and Muslims – overcame fear and uncertainty, and moved beyond our complicated often painful past and our many cultural differences.

We gathered in love and friendship, breaking bread together, enjoying a feast with more than enough for everybody, dwelling in God’s kingdom.

God loves the world and loves us. 

And, especially during Lent but always, God calls us on a journey to new life, promising to be with us for every step.

Amen.

Servants

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 26, 2023

Year A: The First Sunday in Lent

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7

Psalm 32

Romans 5:12-19

Matthew 4:1-11

Servants

We had a most beautiful Ash Wednesday here at St. Thomas’.

At the noon and 7:00 PM services, Wanda played and the choir sang, and, well, once again, they just outdid themselves.

We had good attendance, which was great, of course. But it always surprises me that so many people come to church on what really is a very peculiar day. We hear Jesus warn us against showing our piety in public. And then we have ash smeared on our foreheads where everyone can see it. And then we get reminded that, someday, we are going to die.

Of course, just like Good Friday, Ash Wednesday only makes sense because it’s not the end of the story.

The ashes were a powerful reminder of our dependence of God, but just temporary, easily washed off.

But the bond that God makes with us in the water of baptism – we can never wipe that away, no matter how hard we may sometimes try. 

The bond that God makes with us in the water of baptism is permanent, sustaining us throughout the trials and temptations of life, holding us tight even when it sure seems like suffering is gaining the upper hand, never letting us go, even when it seems like death is getting the last word.

Today, on the First Sunday in Lent, we always hear the story of Jesus in the wilderness – forty days of prayer and fasting – and near the end of that wilderness time, a famished and exhausted Jesus is tempted by Satan.

Satan here is not so much the embodiment of evil that we usually think of. No, he’s simply the tempter – the one who probes and tests us, revealing our weaknesses and failures, revealing our faith and strength – not to God, who already knows – but to ourselves.

It’s essential to note that Jesus’ forty wilderness days take place immediately following his Baptism – right after Jesus came out of the River Jordan and saw the Spirit of God descend on him like a dove – right after a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

That unbreakable bond with God the Father secured Jesus as he faced his wilderness time, as he endured his temptations.

And, in this case, you may have noticed that Satan’s temptations don’t actually seem so bad.

Jesus, you’re so hungry. And you have the power to make bread out of these stones. What harm is there in a loaf or two?

Jesus, you’re the Son of God so, really, there’s nothing to worry about, right? Why not throw yourself from the Temple and let the angels save you? Then everyone will see and know who you are.

Jesus, you’re the King of Kings. All you have to do is bow down before me and you will truly reign as king of the world.

No, the temptations really don’t seem so bad - except that they would have diverted Jesus from his mission.

Jesus was not sent to fill up on bread but to be bread for the world.

Jesus didn’t come into the world to make a showy leap of faith but to give away his life on the cross, revealing the wideness of God’s love and mercy.

Jesus is a king without gold or worldly glory, his only crown is made of thorns and his power is revealed when he washes the feet of his friends, when he forgives those who persecute him.

And so, in his wilderness time, secured by his baptismal bond, Jesus is able to successfully resist temptation – Jesus remembers his identity, remembers his mission:

Jesus is a servant.

And, just like the first disciples with their freshly washed feet, Jesus calls us to be servants, too.

In addition to being the First Sunday in Lent, today is our Annual Meeting day, a time to take stock of where we’ve been and what we’ve done over the past year, and to look ahead to the future as best we can.

Coincidentally, I had lunch the other day with another priest in the diocese, someone I had previously only met briefly.

As we were eating, he asked me what brought me here – what led Sue and me to quite literally leave home and join all of you.

Between bites of food, I answered as best I could, but for the rest of the day I thought back to that discernment, and I circled back to something I’ve mentioned before, back to one of the very first things I learned about St. Thomas’.

During the earliest and scariest days of the pandemic, when the church and everything else was all closed up and we feared for our survival, what did this church do? Some of you – I think I can now guess who – made masks and hung them on the parish hall doors, free for the taking, given away to we’ll never know who - a simple but beautiful act of love and hope and service during a wilderness time.

Servants.

And, I have to say, you had me right then.

And now, for the past year and a half, over and over I have seen you living out our vocation as servants – I have seen this church truly be a servant church.

You have given of yourselves in countless ways – given money and expertise and, the most valuable commodity of all, your time:

Welcoming new friends from Afghanistan, guiding them through government bureaucracy, giving them daily rides to school and work, offering driving lessons, welcoming them into your homes.

Spending many hours designing a new church website, thoughtfully weighing every word and photo, determined to find the best way to tell our story to the many hungry people out there.

Bringing (or having delivered) mountains of clothes and food and hygiene products and cleaning supplies for the people who line up each week at the Community Crisis Center.

Having the courage to lead a Zoom Bible Study session, providing the opportunity for fellow parishioners to learn more about God’s Word.

In an uncertain and inflationary time, continuing, and, in many cases, even increasing your financial support – and new parishioners making a pledge for the first time.

Showing up early on Saturday morning to set up and beautify the church – coming out on Thursday evenings to rehearse the beautiful music we hear every Sunday – inviting and training and thanking (yes, with chocolate) the youth acolytes, reminding them that they have much to offer their church.

I could go on.

But you do all this and more, never to glorify yourselves but to offer loving service to people in need – loving service to this church – loving service to the God who makes an unbreakable bond with us.

I hope you will read the Annual Report. It’s the product of lots of hard work. It tells an exciting story of renewal here at St. Thomas’. Most of all, it tells the beautiful story of one year in the life of a servant church.

You know, when I first sat with today’s gospel lesson, I thought about the temptations that we face today.

Of course, Satan is quite good at coming up with temptations that match our individual vulnerabilities.

But, together, as a country, as a world, I think the most dangerous temptation we face is despair.

We are in a wilderness time, buried in a deepening avalanche of problems and challenges. That’s bad enough. But, even worse, we seem to lack the will to set aside our differences and get to work, digging ourselves out.

It would be so easy to give into the temptation to despair.

But, as always, the way to resist is to follow Jesus’ example.

In his wilderness time, secured by his baptismal bond, Jesus successfully resisted temptation because he remembered his identity, remembered his mission. 

Jesus is a servant.

And we are a servant church.

Amen.

"Heart Work"

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 22, 2023

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

Psalm 103

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

“Heart Work”

I think it’s safe to say that Ash Wednesday is one of the more peculiar days on the Christian calendar.

Each year, on the first day of Lent, we interrupt our usual midweek routines to gather together.

Each year, we hear Jesus warn us against showing our piety in public…and then we have ash smudged on our foreheads…where everyone can see it.

And we get reminded that someday we are going to die.

By now, I know many of you well enough to know that you are not here because you want to show off how religious you are – that’s not how you operate, not at all.

And, besides, these days no one cares, anyway.

And I doubt that many of us need a reminder that someday we will die.

One of the gifts of St. Thomas’ is that each time we come here we can’t help but see the graves of people who were once like us.

They, too, had fears and hopes, setbacks and triumphs.

They, too, loved and were loved. 

And, in most cases, just like us, they gathered right here, bathing these old walls in prayer, receiving the Body and Blood of Christ, placing their trust in the God would not let go of them, no matter what.

So, today is certainly not about showing off and it’s not even so much about getting a reminder of our deaths.

No, today and all the Lenten days ahead, are really about our hearts.

In today’s collect, our opening prayer, we asked God to “create and make in us new and contrite hearts.”

That’s what today - and the forty days ahead - are all about.

Ash Wednesday and Lent are about asking God to open our hearts – allowing God to work in and through our hearts.

Our Lenten “heart work” begins with the ashes, which, more than a death notice are really a reminder of our total dependence on God.

Our Lenten “heart work” continues by setting aside, even just a little, whatever might be getting in the way of God and us – too much drinking or too much busyness or too much cable news or too much internet, or just too much. 

Our Lenten “heart work” might mean trying to heal a broken relationship or finally asking forgiveness for something wrong we have done.

Our Lenten “heart work” is making even just a little bit of time for God and us, maybe getting up a few minutes early to say a prayer or to jot down thoughts in a journal or just to look out the window and breathe.

Our Lenten “heart work” might include giving a little more than usual, or coming here more regularly than usual, or maybe getting involved in some good work we’ve been feeling called to do.

But, all we really have to do is take our “heart work” seriously, and God will take it from there – opening our hearts – making in us new and contrite hearts – and then working in and through our beautiful new hearts.

What could be better than that?

I wish you all a holy and heart-felt Lent.

Amen.

Coming Down the Mountain

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 19, 2023

Year A: The Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Exodus 24:12-18

Psalm 2

2 Peter 1:16-21

Matthew 17:1-9

Coming Down the Mountain

Well, I know that it really may feel like we just took down the Christmas decorations, but today we have reached the Last Sunday after the Epiphany.

And, as we do every year on this Sunday before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent, in today’s gospel lesson we heard the story of the Transfiguration.

Six days after Peter correctly – and maybe surprisingly – identified Jesus as the Christ – the Messiah – Jesus brings Peter and the brothers James and John up a high mountain.

There, the three fishermen disciples receive quite a sight, as Jesus is transfigured before their eyes – his face radiant and his clothes dazzling white.

And then Jesus is joined by Moses and Elijah, two giants of Israel’s past, who, it was believed, had not died in the usual way of all people.

I’m sure Peter, James, and John could hardly begin to understand what was happening – that the veil between heaven and earth had been opened – but, to his credit, Peter knows that is good to be there. Peter knows that he is on sacred ground and quickly proposes a building project – he offers to construct dwellings for Jesus and Moses and Elijah.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to stay up there forever, right?

But before Peter can even start gathering materials for his “capital campaign,” there comes the voice from heaven, “This is my Son the Beloved; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”

And very understandably, the disciples fell to the ground, terrified.

And what is the first thing Jesus says to his friends, as they held on for dear life, as they clung to that holy ground?

“Get up and do not be afraid.”

And, probably with their heads spinning and their hearts thumping, Jesus and his friends come down the mountain.

Together they begin the journey to Jerusalem – on their way to the palm parade - to betrayal and rejection - to three denials by Peter who knew better – to suffering and death – and, finally, to the shock of an empty tomb and the unimaginable joy of new life on the first Easter morning.

But, in order to reach Jerusalem, it was first necessary to overcome fear, and come down the mountain.

Probably like a lot of you, Sue and I keep track of important milestones in our lives by noting them in our calendars.

A few weeks ago, she mentioned to me that it was the two-year anniversary of “Bishop’s Sutton’s call.”

That was the day the bishop phoned to let me know that the wardens and vestry had called me to be the next rector of St. Thomas’.

Bishop Sutton called quite early that day – January 29, in case you’re wondering – so early that, while I was awake and up, I think I was only about halfway through my first cup of coffee, so maybe not quite as alert as I would have liked.

I think I said something profound like, “Oh, wow.” And I was about to say that I’d like just a little bit of time to talk it over again with Sue and I’d get back to him shortly. But, before I could formulate those words, he said, “I trust you are receiving this as good news?”

And I said, “Oh, yes” – which he heard as “Yes, I accept” – which I was going to do anyway. But, without any further conversation with Sue, we were off and running.

Thinking about that memorable call, got me thinking back to my first conversation with Bishop Sutton, on a date I won’t forget: January 6, 2021. 

As the Republic seemed to wobble, he and I spent about an hour on Zoom, getting to know each other and talking about my ministry and my hopes for the future at St. Thomas’.

I talked about my interest in bridging the gap between the suburbs and the city, and the work I had done in community organizing in Jersey City, focused especially on affordable housing.

I guess that sounded good enough to the bishop and, actually, it sounded pretty good to me, too.

But then I got here, and it has taken a lot of time to get to know the parish – to get to know many of you – to learn my way around the neighborhood.

And we’ve certainly done a lot together over the past year and a half, but I’ve done none of the stuff that Bishop Sutton and I talked about.

Instead, the truth is, the city just down the road from us seems daunting to me, its problems overwhelming. So, I’ve spent most of my time up here on the holy mountain, where it is certainly beautiful and I feel God’s presence all the time.

But, lately, I’ve been feeling a holy nudge.

“Get up and do not be afraid.”

Since even before I arrived here, I’ve heard about the amazing work of the Community Crisis Center in Reisterstown.

And I’ve tried to support our partnership efforts, all the different collections, including our “Bottoms Up” campaign.

But, although I had driven by many times, I had never stopped in, had never seen the center in operation, and had certainly never volunteered.

Well, about a month and a half ago, before the 8:00 service, Margaret Green and I were talking in the narthex and then, in her usual direct way, she said to me, “You should volunteer at the Center.”

I felt a little convicted, to be honest.

Yes, of course, I should volunteer at this place that is such an important partner of our church.

So, a few weeks ago, on a chilly Saturday morning, I showed up, glad to see that a couple of other parishioners there, too.

I got a tour of the center from Eileen the director.

I sensed the joyful dedication of the longtime volunteers.

I saw the long line of cars begin to form along Resisterstown Road.

And then I was put to work, distributing a small number of personal hygiene products – a roll of toilet paper, a bar of soap - only three per family – as people drove through the center’s driveway.

I wondered about all the time that they had spent waiting, only to receive what seemed to me to be so little. But, most of the clients seemed cheerful and quite grateful, though it must get old to say thank you so much.

Coming down the mountain.

And then, last week, I got a text from another priest in the diocese asking if I was planning to attend the BUILD action in Baltimore City on Thursday morning.

BUILD is Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development, and is a sister organization of Jersey City Together, which I had been involved with back home.

I had known about the BUILD action, and had thought about going, but felt kind of funny about it as someone living in the County and still kind of new.

At least those were the reasons I told myself for not going.

But, I felt the nudge from my colleague, and so Betsy Wilmerding and I took the ride down to West Saratoga Street where we joined nearly 300 other people – Black and white, clergy and lay – calling on the mayor to take action on the thousands of vacant houses across the city.

Maybe you heard about this on the news.

I have no idea if this is a wise or workable plan, but I have to say it was good to be there – to hear the stories of people whose neighborhoods have been neglected for so long – to hear the passionate faith and commitment of clergy who are challenged to pastor in pastures that are not green at all.

Coming down the mountain.

Lent is now just a few days away, so there’s still time to decide on what we might give up or what we might take on during this holy season – what we might do to open our hearts to God, to allow God to work through us.

I’ve resolved to get out of the office and off this beautiful campus a bit more – to go down the mountain.

It’s not easy down there – there’s plenty of suffering, for sure – but just like for Jesus and his fisherman friends – it’s the way to Jerusalem – it’s the way to new life.

Amen.

Spiritual Training

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD

February 12, 2023

Year A: The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany

Sirach 15:15-20

Psalm 119:1-8

1 Corinthians 3:1-9

Matthew 5:21-37

Spiritual Training

I love this time of year. 

Although it can still be quite cold, and although the groundhog saw his shadow, right around now we start to see and feel the first hints that the seasons are beginning to change.

I’m sure that you gardeners, especially, have spotted the first sprouts poking through the soil – taking that as a sign of hope or maybe seeing it as a cause of concern that things are happening too quickly.

And even those of us who barely pay attention have surely noticed that the days are growing longer. Now, when I walk out the door after our Sunday evening service there are still a few lingering hints of daylight – and we know that ever-brighter days are ahead.

And, just as the seasons are beginning to change outside, the seasons are starting to change here in church, too.

I know it feels like we just took down the Christmas decorations, but Ash Wednesday is just a week from Wednesday – no, it’s true - so we are now deeply into what we might call “Pre-Lent.”

If you were here last week, you may remember that we heard God speaking through the Prophet Isaiah, describing the kind of sacrifice that is most pleasing to God, a kind of fasting that is way more costly and holy than giving up wine or chocolate.

God says, “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”

Oh yes, it’s “Pre-Lent.”

And today’s lessons point even more clearly to a change of seasons here in church.

In today’s first lesson, from the Book of Sirach, we heard a heavy emphasis on choice – on our choices:

“If you choose, you can keep the commandments, and to act faithfully is a matter of your own choice.”

Those verses reminded me of a school disciplinarian I once worked with. When a student, or a teacher, messed up he always said, with a shrug,

“It’s all about choices.”

And the psalmist writes, “Happy are they whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the Lord!”

But who exactly is blameless? And how could we ever even approach blamelessness?

I mean, even if we live our lives with as much integrity as we can, we all benefit from unjust practices – a system that makes life so hard for the poor, and a way of life that implicates all of us in the poisoning of the earth.

And then we have some hard teaching from Jesus in today’s gospel lesson.

Last week, Jesus insisted that he had come not to abolish the Jewish Law but to fulfill it.

And now, Jesus goes even further than that – intensifying the Law that is already quite demanding and strict.

Jesus teaches that anger and insult approach the seriousness of murder – that lust is adultery in our hearts – that divorce is wrong – that we should cut off parts of our body that cause us to sin - that we should not swear, ever.

Reading that challenging passage, I was reminded of another moment, later in the Gospel of Matthew, when Jesus offers a different hard teaching. The disciples are astounded and ask, “Then who can be saved?” And Jesus replies, “For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.”

Listening to today’s lessons – the importance of our choices – the call to blamelessness – the teaching that what’s going on in our hearts is at least as important as what we actually do – we may feel just like those first disciples.

“Who can be saved?”

And Jesus’ answer is the same today as it was back then, “For God all things are possible.”

So, it seems to me that our most important task is to open our hearts to God – to allow God to work through us.

And, just like athletes striving for even greater excellence, opening our heart to God, allowing God to work through us, requires training – spiritual training.

Which is a good way to think of Lent, isn’t it?

During those forty days of preparation, we’re encouraged to hit the spiritual gym: to run – or walk – or maybe just crawl - the spiritual track – to lift some spiritual weights – it’s OK to start with the lightest ones.

During those forty days – and, hopefully always – our spiritual training shapes us so that we really can open our hearts to God, allowing God to work through us.

And what might that spiritual training look like?

Well, let me tell you the story of my first church job.

Sixteen years ago, I was in my last semester at seminary.

Commencement and ordination were getting close.

It was all very exciting.

I was filled with a sense of blessedness, and accomplishment, and, maybe most of all, relief.

There was, however, just one little thing: now I had to find a job.

Even back then, fulltime clergy positions were already getting kind of scarce. In fact, in my diocese there was only one fulltime position available – to serve as curate (or the assistant clergy person) at Grace Church in Madison.

Madison was and is a beautiful and appealing suburban town, its streets lined with plenty of old trees shading attractive homes. It has a main street picturesque enough to have been featured in several movies. There’s a train station offering easy access to New York City.

In short, it’s a really nice place.

But I really didn’t want to go there.

I was convinced that I was called to be a city priest – after all, that’s the world that I knew and where I thought I could minister best.

And, to be totally honest, I felt insecure, afraid that I just wouldn’t fit in with people who went to fancier schools than I had, who were interested in things that I knew nothing about – stuff, like, you know, golf and gardening.

(Yes, God has a sense of humor.)

But, despite my hang-ups, the reality was that I needed a job.

So, I went out to Madison to meet with the then-rector, the Rev. Lauren Ackland, and have conversations with a wide range of parishioners. Slowly, it dawned on me that I liked these people. I could imagine myself living among them and serving beside them.

As the day went on, I became more and amazed by just how much was going on at Grace Church – so many wonderful, vibrant ministries, mostly led by lay people. 

Finally, near the end of my interview day, Lauren asked me if I had any questions.

And, I said something like, “I have to ask, why do you think this church is doing so well?”

I’m kind of embarrassed by that question now (Remember, I was new to all of this!), but I’m glad that I asked because I’ll never forget Lauren’s answer.

Without hesitation, she said, “It’s the daily worship.”

Grace Church offered a public service of worship every day of the year. Most of the weekday services were not particularly well attended. Sometimes it was just the officiant and the reader – and sometimes just the officiant alone, praying for, and on behalf of, the whole community.

Lauren said that the walls of the church were “bathed in prayer,” and that all of those prayers had a powerful spiritual effect.

I confess that at the time I was skeptical, but over the years I became convinced that she was absolutely right.

I can’t really explain how, but by God’s grace, the practice of daily prayer – that spiritual training - strengthened the entire church.

And, what’s true for a community is also true for each of us.

We have been given a seemingly impossible challenge – to always make good choices – to live blamelessly – to control our hearts as much as we contain our actions – all seemingly impossible, but with God, all things are possible.

The changing seasons are a call for us to hit the spiritual gym – to do some spiritual training – shaping us to open our hearts to God, allowing God to work through us.

Happy “Pre-Lent!”

Amen.