Messiah Church – ELCA

One of the finest spiritual writers in the last fifty years was a man named Anthony de Mello. Like Jesus’ own use of parables, de Mello often turned to stories to explain the religious issues of our time. In a little book called One Minute Wisdom he shares this story: 

            One day the Master asked his disciples, What, in your opinion, is the most important of all religious questions?

            He received many answers:                  

                        Does God exist?

                        Who is God?

                        What is the path to God?

                        Is there life after death?   

            No, said the Master. The most important question is: “Who am I?” 

            Who am I? How can this be such a great religious question when for me anyway, the answers are pretty simple? Who am I? I am a husband and father. I am a pastor and preacher. I am a musician, a singer, and storyteller. I am an extrovert who enjoys people and loves to laugh. I am deeply emotional and can get angry quickly. I enjoy sports and theater, going out to dinner with Melissa. I love playing with Benjamin, skating with Joey, and dancing with Rachel. This is who I am – not a very difficult question right?

            Still, de Mello’s parable is getting at something much deeper than the hats I wear, or the jobs I do, or the hobbies that I enjoy. The most important religious question is Who am I at the deepest core of my being?  Who am I apart from my relationships and work – apart from my talents and titles? Who am I when I stand stripped of everything that I use to define myself? Who am I?

            Each year as a church we celebrate the Season of Lent to get us back to this question. The scriptures that make up the Lenten services are readings about people who discover who they are. We read each year about the people of Israel wandering in the desert, King David standing accused of murder before Nathan the prophet, Jeremiah and Isaiah calling out for repentance and justice, the Samaritan Woman at the Well, the man born blind, Lazarus, and so many others – these are the characters of our Lenten journey and all of them share a great secret. The secret is simply this – they are completely, absolutely and utterly dependent upon God! The characters of Lent understand who they are. They know that they are imperfect and broken. They realize that they have made terrible mistakes. They understand that their lives are not what they should be. They have come to realize that their one hope is God and God alone, and thus they are completely, absolutely and utterly dependent upon God.

                 So every year at this time we are asked to fast and pray and give alms (something for the poor) not because these things are good in and of themselves – NO! We do these things to remind us of who we are. When we fast from food we remember that all food is a gift from God, and that every bite we eat and breath we take is sheer grace and gift. When we pray we remember that we are not worlds onto ourselves but that we are creatures standing before the Creator. When we give to the poor we remember that all of our possessions and all of our wealth are given to us that we might give to others.

                 Everything we do in the Lenten Season reminds us of our dependence upon God and God alone. This Lent my morning prayer every day will begin with this question: Who am I? In my fasting, in my praying, and in my giving, perhaps I will realize what the great characters of scripture realized – that I am imperfect and broken, yet loved more than I could ever imagine and given a future greater than I could have ever hoped for. Who am I? I am, as you are, completely, absolutely and utterly dependent upon God!

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes – how do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In 525,600 minutes – how do you measure a year in the life? How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love. Seasons of love.

            The words are from the Broadway hit Rent http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8iTeDl_Wug and entitled Seasons of Love. While I’ve never seen the play, I have heard the music throughout this year. It is this song that has been on my heart the past few weeks as I’ve reflected upon life here at Messiah Church, because I have been asking that same question of our parish community.

            How does one measure the growth of a church? Do we measure by membership? We are indeed growing as evidenced by an increase of nearly 100 people in parish membership just this year, and an attendance level at worship that has increased as well. Do we measure the growth of our faith by our giving, our tithing, and our stewardship? Certainly this community is giving more each year – we are on firm financial footings and I think we have made prudent financial decisions while increasing our charitable giving. Do we measure our faith community by our educational/formational programs? It’s amazing the number of children that are present in Sunday school and the young people in pre-Confirmation and Confirmation classes. The laughter that comes from our adult bible study is engaging, and every year it seems, more adults want to be a part of this process? Do we measure the church by the fellowship at our common meals? The Lenten Soup Suppers and the Harvest Meal, the youth pizza gatherings and the Autumn Barbeque are such festive life-giving moments filled with joy. Do we measure by the new construction – by the sheer size of the building – by the organization of property? Certainly the building plant is increasing as is our visibility on the east side of Madison. How do we measure a family of faith – how do we measure a year?

How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love. Seasons of love.

            This one line from Seasons of Love haunts me, and challenges me, and inspires me. We should NEVER measure ourselves by our membership, or attendance; by our tithing or our giving; by our programs or our fellowship; by our building or our possessions! It is fine to look at these figures to get an idea of where we are going, and to use them to plan appropriately. Still, the only measure of Christian community is Christ. Have we been more Christ-like this year? Have we been more open to the poor and the weak? Have we grown in our understanding of brokenness and our willingness to forgive? We measure in love – Seasons of love.

Now while I can not quantify how Christ-like we have lived, I can say that I have often been moved by the service I’ve witnessed from parishioners. So many times this year people have served food at the shelters and spent their vacations on mission trips and worked at the food pantries. I’ve been impressed with the patience parishioners have shown to one another even in disagreements. I have heard people suspend their judgment and speak words of patient tolerance. These are the measures of love – the moments that we try to be like Christ, and there are so many more.

I do think we have come far this year – and always – I am so proud to be your pastor. Still, the measure of love is a difficult one. There is so much to do. There is so much room to be ever more like Christ. There is still so far to go! How do we measure a year? Measure in love. Seasons of love.

A man whispered, “God speak to me,” and a meadowlark sang – but the man did not hear.

So the man yelled, “God answer me,” and the thunder and lightening rolled across the sky – but the man did not listen.

The man looked around and said, “God let me see you,” and a star shined brightly – but the man did not see.

And the man shouted, “God show me a miracle,” and a life was born – but the man did not notice.

So the man cried out, “Touch me God and let me know that you are here with me,” whereupon God reached down and touched the man – but the man simply brushed the butterfly away and walked on in despair.”

How often do we miss hearing the voice of God, miss feeling the touch of God, miss seeing the presence of God because the entire world looks too ordinary? Yet if there is anything to learn about the story of Jesus it is this – God comes in ordinary ways to reveal what is indeed extraordinary. The gospel tells us that God is made visible in an ordinary carpenter’s son, and the church is birthed by ordinary fisherman, and the kingdom is proclaimed through ordinary parables. God uses the ordinary to proclaim the extraordinary.

 I suppose this thought has been on my mind this past week as I’ve suddenly realized that the Holiday Season has already come and gone and 2009 is now a memory. In my prayer this morning I asked myself how I’ve spent this past year – this gift from God that will never come again. I must admit that I haven’t listened well to the voice of God, or looked for God’s face, or felt God’s touch in the ordinary. Rather, I’ve moved through this year more annoyed with the chaos of my schedule, or the noise of the construction project, or the decisions that need to be made. There have been so many times that I was simply irritated by the cries of my children. I have been overwhelmed by the responsibilities that come with marriage. I have not always been graceful handling the demands of being a Dad and a spouse. I’ve complained about winter snowfalls and have run hurriedly through summer rains and I have been very much like the man in the story – and the thunder and lightening rolled across the sky – but the man did not listen.

            How often this past year have I been like that man – Lord let me see you! And the snow sparkled like a billion diamonds, and the hot chocolate smelled divine, and the Christmas tree shimmered in beauty – but I did not see! How often I have been like that man – God show me a miracle! And I’ve witnessed a family surviving a death, and the courage of a little boy with cancer, and a dozen marriages and multiple baptisms and such laughter and joy on Sunday mornings – but I did not notice! How often I have been like that man – Touch me God and let me know that you are here with me! And Ben and Joey and Rachel snuggled with me on the couch, and Melissa held my hand, and a butterfly touched my cheek – and I simply carried on as if there were a thousand tomorrows!

            We have come to the New Year and 2010 gives me a chance to begin again. These are my New Year’s resolutions. In the laughter and cries of Benjamin, Joey and Rachel, in the conversations with Melissa, in the singing of this congregation I will listen for the voice of God. In the warm breezes of August afternoons, and in the snowfalls of January, in the hazy stillness of summer evenings, and in the howling winds of winter, in the thunder and lightning, in the calm and the storm I will feel the touch of God. These are my resolutions – this now is my new beginning!

            Every moment of every day is filled with such ordinary miracles. Let’s remember the story of Jesus. God is revealed through the ordinary. God uses the ordinary to reveal what is indeed extraordinary!