If not now, when?

“If not now, when?” The Dover Church
February 28, 2010– Second Sunday in Lent
Scripture: Psalm 63:1-8, Isaiah 55: 1-9, Luke 13: 1-9

I remember how excited I would be every day as the school bus brought me home from kindergarten, seeing my mother waiting there, knowing she would kiss me and ask me how my day was, probably have baked something for us that morning, seeing my dog and cats and the fun we'd have before supper.
I remember how excited I would be to go see my grandmother, to have her hug me and smell those grandmother smells, the box of chocolates she would always have, the funny things she would do, the days at the beach and her funny bathing cap, the stories she would tell. I'd be on the edge of my car seat as we drove into Plymouth and turned into her street.
I remember how excited I used to get on the drive down to our summer house on the Cape. I'd be making my plans for the summer all the way down, what I'd do on the beach, how I'd go sailing and swimming and fishing, the fireworks on the 4th of July, the steamers and chowder, sand between my toes, the sunburn on my nose.
I remember how much I enjoyed hanging out with my best friend, building forts in the woods, going fishing, playing whiffle ball or basketball, laughing and joking and eating and beating each other up, how I couldn't wait to go to his house or have him come over to my house, and how I would fall asleep thinking of what we'd do tomorrow.
I remember what it felt like the first time I had a crush on a girl, how I would ride my bike just to sprint by her house, and then circle around the block over and over again, hoping to catch a glimpse of her and terrified that she might see me.
I remember how I loved studying and teaching Old Norse, of reading through piles of books and going to lectures and seminars, of following my dream around the world from Amherst to Seattle to Sweden to Berkeley to Reykjavik and then to Boulder.
I remember how I loved trout fishing in Colorado, how I would get up on my day off and think nothing of driving 5 hours to the other side of the state, to Wyoming or New Mexico, to try out some river, camping out overnight in the back of my pickup under the stars, fishing all the next day and then driving all night back to Boulder for work.
I remember how excited I was when I started seminary. “I’m going to actually get to know God. I’m going to meet God face to face. I’m going to read books by people who have also known God and meet some of them who are still alive.” What a thrill!
I remember the first time I met my wife, of how I saw her across the room and thought, “Wow!” I remember how I felt the same way when I met our sons, “Wow!”
These little stories are not pure nostalgia, wistful memories of how I used to be. Any of you who know me know that I am a man of enthusiasms. I am excited about fishing season, about the books I am reading, about going biking and canoeing with our sons, about parties with our friends, about going for walk with my dog. I like being excited about my life.
And of course, there is church. I am excited about preaching and worship every Sunday, because I know that something more than what I have planned is going to happen. Maybe not for everyone all the time, but God does show up. I am also really excited about what is about to happen in our church, as we have these luncheon discussions about the future.
Why am I telling you these stories? Because I want to challenge you the way our scripture lessons this morning challenge us. All of them capture the dynamic tension every human being lives, that tension between what is and what might yet be. There is something incomplete about us humans. Our creator didn't quite finish us. All of us, at one time or another, feel a sense of lack, that somehow we are just not quite what we might be, that we're missing something essential to make our possibility a reality.
We are driven by that sense of incompleteness. It drives our enthusiasms, our thirst for life, our striving to fill out the picture and fill up the incompleteness, to live life a little more fully. As people of faith, we believe that God is both the beginning and end of this human tension, that God created each of us and all of us to be restless and enthusiastic, incomplete so that we would seek God, because that restlessness and enthusiasm can only be fulfilled in God, through God, and with God.
St. Augustine begins his famous autobiography, The Confessions, speaking this truth to God: "You have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in thee." Some people think that this is a cop out, that we people of faith use God as a crutch, as some sort of fantasy solution to all our emotional and psychological failures and insufficiencies, that each of us and all of us is just a little mess stuck in the mess of our own making, crying for a fantasy parent to come take us away, to kiss us and make us better. That, to me, is such a futile, pointless, and slow death dealing way of viewing the human condition.
No, my friends, behind all of our sense of lack and incompleteness, behind every one of our urges to reach out into life with enthusiasm, is God calling us. It is God who yearns to be in relationship with us, to give us an opportunity to love him and show us his love for us. Every one of our interests and enthusiasms is actually an invitation from God. Every one of our feelings of insufficiency and lack is actually a call from God to completion. Our seeking God is really God seeking us.
For many of us, it is when we are children, most incomplete, that we have the greatest enthusiasm for life, that we are most open to God calling us, even if we cannot put it in those words. We just know we want to play. As we get older, however, as we actually become more complete and focus our enthusiasms and have the words to describe God calling us, many of us get tired by the amount of life. Some of us get overwhelmed and frightened by the intensity of life. Some of us let both our fear and our tiredness draw us into boredom and apathy. We become lukewarm. Boredom and apathy are the great danger of modern western society. We allow what was our passion for life, the sorts of feelings I tried to capture in my stories a few minutes ago, we allow that passion for our spouses and families and the things we do and the places we live, to gradually become a burden of responsibility. Our passion for life gradually becomes a job we have to do to pay for what once delighted us, but now burdens us. Occasionally we wake up and notice what has happened and vow to live differently, but then the same old same old creeps up on us again and our lives slip away.
All of us cope in one way or another. Some of us go through fazes, trying first this and then trying that. Some of us climb inside addictions and let them run our lives for us. Some of us run away from our present lives hoping that the grass will somehow be greener, and leave behind a life rich with possibility. All of us mistake the vehicle of our enthusiasm, our families and friends, our work, our hobbies, whatever we pour our energy and time into, we mistake that for the voice behind them calling us, the voice of the living God.
Which brings me to the point of this sermon. First, the personal one which I am sure you have heard many times before so I won’t belabor it. Are you lukewarm? Tired? Apathetic? Without focus? Do you thirst for living water? Satisfaction? Fulfillment? It is God calling you. This is the only life you have. Start living it today. Now is the time. If not now, when?
And finally, the church. I know that so many of you live lives of great enthusiasm out there. You literally move mountains, create new life, do great things, live full lives which are exciting and fruitful. Here, at church, however, what do we do when a new, enthusiastic person comes? We put them on a committee where they are gradually ground down with by-laws and parliamentary procedures, with the one step forward and two steps back approach which leads to so little. We are so set on being proper and orderly that any hope for something as exciting as the other things in our lives which we are enthusiastic about becomes unrealistic and almost impossible.
Me, I believe in the story of the loaves and fishes, of little becoming much for the good of many. Me, I believe in the Sower and the Seeds in the good soil which yield 30, 60 and 100 fold, of the gift of the Gospel bearing fruit beyond our calculations or even imaginations. I believe. I believe in the sense that that is what I want to be part of. I want to invite people to let their enthusiasm for God in Jesus Christ, for the kingdom of God, for love in all its forms, whether teaching or fellowship, worship or education, stewardship or service to our neighbors, I want this to be the place where that blossoms and bears fruit. I want to let the genie out of the bottle. You see, I have only one life to be part of a church and I want God’s promises in Jesus Christ to be fulfilled in this place, at this time, with all of you. If not now, when?