Thursday, October 27, 2011

Pentecost 19
October 23, 2011
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

On a Tuesday before Thanksgiving, writes Mitch Albom, the author of “Tuesdays with Morrie” and his own memoir, “Have A Little Faith.” On a Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I came by the I Am My Brother’s Keeper Ministry to see firsthand the homeless program that it operated. I still wasn’t totally at ease with Pastor Henry. Everything about his church was different. At least it was different to me. But, what the Rev had said resonated. That you can embrace your own faith’s authenticity and still accept that others believe in something else. Besides there was that whole community thing—well Detroit was my city. So I put my toe in the water. I helped Henry purchase a blue tarp for his ceiling which stretched over the leaky section so at least the sanctuary would not be flooded. Fixing the roof was a much bigger job--maybe $80,000 according to the contractor. “Oooou,” Henry gushed when he heard that estimate. $80,000 was more than this church has seen in years. Mitch Album wrote, “I felt badly for him. But that would have to come from some more committed source. A tarp. A toe in the water was enough for me.” Later that morning in the middle of the floor, there was Henry in a blue sweat shirt and a heavy coat moving between the tables, shifting his feet and his weight from one foot to the next, standing in the midst of parishioners there to serve and the homeless there to be served. “I am somebody” he yelled. “I am somebody,” the crowd replied. I am somebody he yelled again. I am somebody they repeated in kind. Then together they said in a loud voice. “Because God loves me because God loves me I am somebody,” a few people clapped. Henry exhaled and nodded. And, one by one many of the homeless stood up, came into a circle and held hands. And, a prayer was said. And then as if on cue, the circle broke and the line formed parishioners headed to the kitchen and their homeless guests headed to line to get something hot to eat. Thirty minutes later, up in his office, Henry and I sat huddled by a space heater. Similar to the one you probably wished you had this morning. I myself am quite comfortable. Someone came in and offered us a paper plate with some cornbread. “What happened Henry,” I asked. And Henry sighed, “Well it turns out we owe $37,000 to the gas company.” “What?!” I said. “Well I knew we were running behind but it was a small amount. We always manage to pay something--something to keep the heat on. But then this Fall, it got cold so fast, and we started heating the sanctuary for services and Bible study and we didn’t realize the size of that hole in the roof.”
Mitch Album interjects, “It was sucking the heat up.” “Up and out,” Henry said. “And we just kept heating it more and it kept disappearing out the roof,” Mitch Album interjected. “Disappearing,” Henry nodded, “that’s the word.” “What do you do now,” Mitch Album asked. “Well we got these blowers but at first they shut off our electricity too but I called and begged them to leave us something. “I couldn’t believe it,” Mitch Album writes, “a church doing so much good. A church in the cold in America in the 21st century.” “How do you explain that with your faith?” Mitch Album asked Henry. “I ask Jesus that a lot.” Henry said. “I say Jesus – is there something going on with us? Is it like the book of Deuteronomy, the 28th Chapter, you will be cursed in the city and cursed in the country for living in disobedience. “And what does Jesus answer you, Henry?” “I’m still praying, I say God, we need to see you?” and he sighed, and he paused, and he looked at me. That’s why the tarp you helped me with was so important, Mitch. Our people needed a glimmer of hope. Last week it rained and water gushed in the sanctuary. This week it rained and it didn’t. To the people who come here, Mitch, that’s a sign. A sign of hope.” I squirmed, Mitch Album writes. “I didn’t want to be part of any sign. Not in a church. It was just a tarp—a sheet of blue plastic.”
It seems as if Mitch Album stumbled into holiness on that cold November day. He only wanted to stick his toe in the water he said. But he found himself surrounded by a holiness of a people who were down and out but who understood at the core of their being, that they were somebody. Not because of what the world said who they were because God knows by the world’s standards, the opposite message was sent daily. They were somebody because God made them and God loved them. They gathered every day, where someone looked at them and reminded them of that, and, they looked at one another and reminded each other. They WERE Somebody!
Interesting thing for Mitch Album is that he himself, even though he wanted to only to stick his toe in the water, was left with some terribly good news. Whether he liked it or not, he and his blue tarp seemed to be part of Holiness. Mitch Album himself was a holy SOMEBODY.
This is the day when you typically get the Dean’s stewardship message. I’m not going to talk to you about money, Congratulations! I’m not even going to talk to you about giving a little bit more of your time. I’m not even going to talk to you about sharing a little bit more of your talent. I’m just here to share with you some Terribly Good News! That news is that YOU ARE SOMEBODY! You are somebody because the God who made you loves you! The Old Testament lesson tells of Moses speaking to the people of Israel and we hear it ourselves today, that the one who made us is Holy, and, therefore, we are ourselves Holy. So stick a toe in if you’d like, or stick your ear in if you like, or stick your elbow in if you like. (Mine hurts today.) Or jump into the deep end of the pool and put your whole self in it. It doesn’t matter because whatever part you put in is HOlY because YOU ARE SOMEBODY! The God who made you says you are somebody. The God who made you says you are holy.
Fred Beuchner suggests that holiness comes directly from God of course. He suggests that to speak of anything of holiness is to say that God’s mark is upon it. He reminds us that holiness is the space for one who has an eye and a heart for it. It’s a space through which God chooses to send his love.