Eli Masech
The saying is )trustworthy, for: If we have died with him, we will also live with him; 1 Timothy 2:13
21 years ago I walked into a small Sunday School room in a church in the northern suburbs of Chicago for an interview. It was an interview to be an associate pastor of two small churches yoked together in south central Wisconsin. Sitting across the table from me, asking me questions about what I thought about Sunday School programs, was I ready for small town life, and was my wife interested in the ministry, was a white haired mustached man who looked like a close personal friend of Santa Claus. That is where I met Eli Masech. Suzanne and I were hesitant about taking the job, small town, small salary, but Eli said to us, “It may feel like you are out on a branch but we won’t let you fall.” And he was right he never let us fall. He started by personally subsidizing our rent to help us through that first year. When the transmission went out on our car he lent us the big grey Lincoln to drive home to Michigan for the holidays.
Some of my favorite memories of Eli, besides that first meeting, are Easter egg hunts at the house on the hill. Coming into the lower level of that house on the hill after sledding to the stoked woodstove, hot chocolate and Christmas cookies. Eli always presided over these events with charm and generosity. Our children fondly remember the trains and player piano and looking from the deck where you could see the whole town of Pardeeville.
He was a very frugal man all of his life and I remember him beating his chest and groaning every time the church spent more money than he thought we should. I remember going out to Ella’s Deli with Eli a few months after he had open heart surgery. I ordered a cheese burger and fries then I looked over to see what Eli had ordered. He had on his plate a piece of low sodium turkey on a leaf or two of lettuce. He laughed and shrugged and eventually went back to eating Doris’ great home cooking.
I remember taking Eli with me to visit a particular parishioner. The man was very nice and polite and knew all the correct words to say, but had no sense of sin or the preciousness of the blood of Jesus. As we drove away Eli said, “I don’t think that he is a Christian.” When he said that my estimation of his wisdom, which was already exceedingly high, bounded off the charts.
There are so many things I want to say, could say, but time and space does not leave room, so I would like to finish with this. When our consciences burned hot enough for our congregations to leave the PCUSA, it seemed to me that Eli and Doris had the most to lose. They had many friends that remained behind. They had invested a great deal of their time and money into the Church downtown. About a year after we left Eli and I were together, probably in the church office looking over expenditures, me explaining. and him beating his chest, and I asked him how he was doing since our departure. He said, “I can’t believe I’ve had the privilege to see such a remarkable event, where people were willing to give up so much for what they believed. I’m just thankful I was able to be a part of it.”
It is with great joy and sadness that I say goodbye to such a warrior, and know that heaven is welcoming such a saint.
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