Back when I was a normal person, meaning not a minister, I did not look forward to Canvass Sunday, and not for the reasons you might think. I had no problem with being asked for money. As a child, I had watched my parents commit time and money to their church and knew someday that would be me. But when I became a teenager, I left the church, rather bitterly, and for the next ten years or so had no intention of ever being part of a religious community.
When I found Unitarian Universalism in the late 90s, that changed. When I joined First Unitarian Toronto, I realized that, just like my parents, I would now be expected to do my part. And I didn’t feel much anxiety about it, which was in itself strange because I generally worried about money a lot, likely the result of growing up on a struggling farm with the bank threatening to foreclose on a yearly basis, and because I was a graduate student trying to get by on loans and scholarships in a very expensive city. But, it’s almost like you could take me out of the church, but you couldn’t take the church out of me. It was like tapping into old DNA. New church, new religion, old pattern. Even as I sat in those pews the first few weeks, I began to consider what kind of financial commitment I was prepared to make. It was like walking in the footsteps of my ancestors who had given generously and sacrificed willingly for their churches. Making my first pledge felt like a rite of passage into “real” adulthood. My first pledge was pretty small - $250.00. I doubled it when I quit smoking. And each time I pledged I felt this sense of pride, a sense of empowerment, and a sense of belonging. It did mean some sacrifice. Like most places, Toronto was full of distractions, full of ways for me to spend my money and full of advertising telling me how to do it, but I intentionally diverted part of what I had to something that really mattered.
And why did it matter to me? I was giving my money to a religious community that stood for my values, that declared a public witness on issues that were important to me. My church provided a kind of religious education for its children that I would have died for when I was a child. And most importantly, the church nurtured me.
So that’s why I didn’t approach Canvass Sunday with anxiety. I never resented being asked for money. In fact, quite the opposite. I felt validated. So why was I nervous about Canvass Sunday? I always worried about the guests. I worried about those people who had finally taken the risk to come visit us, and I worried about their judgment. Their first Sunday in a Unitarian Universalist church, and we were asking for money. I worried that our guests would feel left out, or worse yet, pressured. I worried that they would leave with the impression that our church was no different from the others – always asking for money.
But I have reconsidered my fears. I think it may be a great Sunday to visit a congregation. Think about it. We all have pretty words, we all have big visions and dreams. But you really get to see how those visions and pretty words boil down when the rubber hits the road, when you witness how a congregation deals with money - how they ask for it, what they do with it. What is the overall attitude to money? Is there a culture of scarcity, meaning you’re always waiting for the roof to fall in, or a culture of abundance, a trust that what you need is there and will come to you? How much does the church give away? How much does it keep for itself?
Some churches say your pledge isn’t enough unless it hurts. Some say give until you feel comfortable. Some churches tithe, meaning they expect you to commit 10% of what you earn, regardless of income. Some churches are very open about who gives what, even publishing levels of giving. Others are extremely private, allowing only a select few to know the amounts each family has pledged. One of the first churches I served never held an offertory in their early years. They felt that asking for money was in such bad taste that they simply set an inconspicuous basket at the door asking for donations. Obviously this didn’t serve them all that well, because within a few years they realized they couldn’t be a church WITHOUT asking for money and they cautiously instituted the offertory.
Mike Durall, a church finance consultant, tells the story of a weekly offertory ritual in an African American church. In this church, giving was very public. Instead of the plate coming to you, you went to the plate. As soon as the offertory was announced, the choir would begin to sing. One by one, parishioners would file down the aisle holding high their money before dropping it into the plate on the front altar. And that wasn’t all. There was a dollar goal to be met each Sunday, and an usher would stand at the front counting the offering as it came in. If the goal wasn’t met, the choir kept singing until it was.
He also tells of a Mennonite church in Indiana where each year in late spring church members gather and share their federal 1040 income tax forms with each other so that all will know they have returned the appropriate portion to God. In Assemblies of God churches, people are encouraged to buy less expensive houses and cars, to forego excessive furniture and appliances, to take less costly vacations, and to spend less on personal luxuries so they can give more.
HIGH-EXPECTATION STEWARDSHIP?
Now I’m not going to ask anyone to dance down the aisle today. I’m not going to ask you to bring your 1040 income tax forms in after April 17th. I’m not going to ask for an account of why you drive the cars you do and live in the houses you do. Nor am I going to require that you tithe 10% of your income before you walk out the door. The historical tradition of Emerson Chapel does not incorporate that kind of stewardship. But, I will ask us to look honestly and openly at what some of those churches, especially the conservative ones who have what is called high-expectation stewardship, are accomplishing. Many high expectation churches have embedded their moral agendas into almost every social and political institution in this country, ranging from our news media, school boards, classrooms, social service agencies, courts and governments. The influence they have amassed in this country is no accident. Their stewardship practices are part and parcel of their success and because of it, these churches and the organizations they support, like Focus on the Family, are able to exercise an influence far beyond their numbers, an influence that has affected all of us.
Let me stop here for a moment and ask you to reflect on how you’re feeling on hearing this. What kind of emotions or reactions stir up in you, both when you think of the stewardship practices in high expectation churches, and the results they get? Are you curious, wanting to know more, wondering how this might work for us? Are you fearful and anxious, worried that even considering some of their methods would make Emerson like those churches many of us criticize and maybe even ridicule? Are you, perhaps, somewhat envious, wishing our liberal religious churches with our progressive social justice witness had the kind of influence that more conservative churches now take for granted?
For all the ways that conservative churches and their moral agendas are seriously harming this country and its citizens, there is much we can learn. High-expectation churches understand that we are supposed to be changed by our religion, and not just in a metaphysical, spiritual or psychological way, but in a very down-to-earth nuts-and-bolts way. To be a person of faith means that our lives aren’t for us anymore. We are for something higher. Members of high expectation churches understand that their lives are being called to change, and if they’re serious about practicing their faith, every aspect of their lives will change so as to be in the service of God and what they believe God stands for. As they are willing to change, willing to sacrifice, the vision and mission of their churches grows as well. It’s really not just about money. It’s the whole package. The goal is to live in complete harmony with their religious beliefs and the moral values that spring from them and they’re willing to sacrifice great amounts to do it. The social and political power of the religious right is no accident. It is a massive grassroots movement that is reshaping this country in major ways.
This chapel is also no accident. We may not dance down the aisle with our money. We may not line up our 1040s. We may not require that our members tithe. But I believe that Emerson Chapel has some things in common with high expectation churches. For many of us, being people of faith means moving beyond the mere fulfillment of our particular needs. Do we want personal enrichment and a sense of personal validation? Do we need the freedom and acceptance that comes with being valued for who we are as individuals? Absolutely. But it’s much more than that. If that’s all we’re looking for, then a good book club and social group would suffice. Most of us want more than that. We want to make a difference. Perhaps “want” is not even a strong enough word. I think many of us are downright starved to feel the depth of transformation and sense of wholeness that happens when we live out our religious beliefs and the moral values that spring from them.
In our consumer-focused world, where we can have most anything we want, many of us are hungry for true sacrifice, and by sacrifice I don’t mean the kind of sacrifice that obliterates who we are, that leaves us an empty shell, that wrings the last ounce of blood from a stone. I’m talking about the kind of sacrifice that brings us closer to that something higher. I believe that many of us here have felt the yearning for that kind of sacrifice.
For the last 22 years, since Emerson Chapel was founded in 1984, we have been serving something higher, sacrificing for something higher, dancing with the possibility of transformation and wholeness that happens when we live out our religious beliefs and the moral values that spring from them. And what is that higher something. What do you serve and sacrifice for in a religion committed to freedom, tolerance, compassion and responsibility?
The answer is remarkably simple. We serve and sacrifice for our covenants. In a religion that has no God or Sacred Text at its center, a religion committed to a way of life rather than a set of fixed beliefs, we serve and sacrifice for our covenants. We are a people of the covenant called by our sacred promises that arise from the deeper convictions that we all have within us that tell us what is right and what is wrong, what is worthy, what is true, what is sacred, what is, for us, the most high. And what is our covenant? The primary covenant that comes to my mind is our principles and purposes, a covenant that we as people of faith developed to help us articulate what we stand for.
I invite you to join with me in reading our seven principles:
We, the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association, covenant to affirm and promote
This is our covenant. It is not a doctrine, it is not a creed. But it is a moral document, a sacred tool that helps us discern what we serve and for what we sacrifice. Our commitment to these principles fuels many of the choices we make about what is right and what is moral. Deep down, this covenant, with its lofty principles, asks for service. It asks for sacrifice. It asks for each one of us to do what is right and what is true.
Do you hunger for sacrifice? Do you long for a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment? Do you yearn for a country and a world shaped by your moral values? And when you hunger, when you long, when you yearn, what do you think the most high is calling you to?
Let us, as people of faith, listen to the convictions that arise from deep within each of us, and answer the call to walk in the sacred paths of service and sacrifice. So be it.
Posted: 4/7/06