This sermon was preached by Dan Harper at the Unitarian Universalist Society of Geneva, Illinois, on Saturday, March 21, and Sunday, March 22. As usual, the sermon below is a reading text. The actual sermon as preached contained ad libs, interjections, and other improvisation. Sermon copyright (c) 2005 Daniel Harper.

IMPORTANT NOTE: This sermon was preached many years ago, when I was an interim associate minister. The congregation who heard this sermon is now a completely different congregation. I post this here, because it’s an example of one kind of sermon that interim ministers used to preach.

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How many of you remember that old comedy routine about Noah? Noah is just hanging out in his rec room, taking it easy when he hears this strange voice. “I want you to build an ark,” says the voice.

In a voice tinged with sarcasm, disbelief, and a certain amount of confusion and maybe wonder, Noah responds, “Right! What’s an ark?”

Even though I can’t tell it like Bill Cosby, this comedy routine is still funny because it tells about an experience we’ve all had: you’re just living out your life, going along with your regular routine, when suddenly, out of nowhere, something tells you to stop what you’re doing and start doing something else: –build an ark. But you don’t know what an ark is! Doesn’t matter, you’re supposed to do it anyway; and when you get done building the ark, fill it full of animals. How on earth are you supposed to fill it full of animals? This is impossible!

Before you know it, you find yourself with an ark full of animals. It was bad enough that you were supposed to build the ark when you didn’t even know what a cubit was, but now you’ve done it, and you find there are complications you hadn’t even dreamed of. At some point, says Bill Cosby, you’re ready to burn down the whole ark and head off to Florida for a vacation. You’re just about to go, when it starts to rain….

Just a little sprinkle, but it’s definitely raining. And it’s not stopping. This is going to be one of those rain storms that goes on for forty days and forty nights. All of a sudden, building that ark seems like a pretty good idea….

A couple of years ago, this congregation was like Noah. This congregation was spinning merrily along, when you started hearing whispers that maybe it was time to start doing things a little differently. There were no voices claiming to be God. But you started noticing that your senior minister was looking a little frazzled — that was one whisper. A group of people started saying they wanted to change the way religious education was done — that was another whisper. Your district executive pointed out some systems dynamics (whatever that means) you might want to address — that was another whisper. Then all of a sudden, your long-time Director of Religious Education leaves, and you find yourself afloat on flood waters in a rickety old ark.

As Bill Cosby tells it, Noah had to manage the ark all by himself. But in this modern day and age, we have consultants. That, my friends, is what an interim minister really is. We interim ministers are consultants who come on board and help you figure out how to sail your ark towards dry ground.

To you, it may have seemed you were afloat in a vast uncharted ocean. But as your ark consultant, I brought along maps and charts. I didn’t tell you where to sail, but the charts made it obvious. First, you’d want to head in the direction of “Coming to Terms with Your History,” which turned out to be filled with turbulence, eddies, and squalls. Remember that?

Second, you’d want to sail through the sea of “Discovering a New Identity.” You did that, and that’s where we are right now — a relatively calm patch of water where everyone on the ark has a chance to reflect on who and what this congregation is.

And here we are, about halfway from where the flood waters started to rise, and about halfway to the final landing place on dry ground once again. Halfway there. Halfway done with the voyage.

It has not been an easy voyage — it has been challenging, inspiring, often fun — but not easy. Back last fall when you were coming to terms with your history, we had a number of small conflicts. That was not easy! — not in a congregation which has traditionally avoided conflict rather than dealing with it head on. We found out that people had very different understandings of the recent history of this congregation. No, coming to terms with your history was not always easy.

Nor was it easy to try to discover a new identity. We human beings do not like change. Why can’t we keep the old identity of this congregation? people wanted to know. Because everything has changed around us. It’s no use pretending that everything is still the same, when you suddenly find yourself in an ark floating on flood waters, and the giraffes need to be fed (where did giraffes come from?!). That kind of thing makes it quite clear that this congregation is discovering a new identity.

You had two main choices for a new identity. You could have decided to shrink back down to about a hundred and fifty members, accepted the financial implications, maybe sold off Pioneer House again in order to make it possible, probably had to find a new minister because Lindsay would have gone crazy if she had to go back to a small church. Instead, it looks to me as if you have decided to finish growing into a middle-sized church, a program-sized church.

You’re halfway there already. So far the advantages are obvious. You get to have another minister. Raising money is easier. Worship services are more dynamic. And it’s easier to find new lay leaders to help run the church. Admittedly, you’re only halfway there, and we keep finding lots of little habits that have to change, because in a program-sized church you have to do everything differently.

For example: — the clipboards.

I remember the first worship service I attended here, almost a year ago, when I was out visiting you for the first time. I heard lots of announcements at the beginning of the worship service, and it seemed to me that every announcement ended with the mysterious statement, “Sign up at the clipboard!” What clipboard? I didn’t see any clipboards! I wondered: What in heaven’s name were people talking about?

A year later, I still haven’t figured out the clipboard thing. When I ask old-timers, they say, “Oh, it’s easy, the clipboards are either on that little wall next to the pulpit, or sometimes they used to get passed around in the congregation during the sermon, or maybe they’re in clipboard central.” I still haven’t figured out where “Clipboard Central” is.

The funny thing is, I also hear people complaining. “No one signs up on the clipboards,” they say. I believe there’s a connection here. If you don’t know where clipboards are, and if you come to church in order to worship, chances are pretty good you won’t sign up for anything on a clipboard.

The clipboards are just one small example of how everything is changing. The clipboards worked pretty well when this was a small church. Now that you are a program-sized church, you will find better ways of doing things. And this is why I say you’re only halfway there. You have enough people to be a program-sized church, but this congregation still small church habits. It is not easy to change these habits — but you’re about halfway there.

You’re going to face some more big changes next year. I expect the next big change will be changes in leadership. Here again, it’s worth learning from the complaints we hear. I hear lots of old-timers, people who have been in this congregation for many years, complaining that they feel tired, or burned out. I also hear new members complaining that it is hard to get involved. When you were a small church, everyone knew everyone else, and when you needed new leaders you just picked someone you knew to take over for you. Now that you’re a mid-sized church, you will develop an open, well-publicized process for finding new lay leaders.

I expect that in the coming six or seven months, you will see many new lay leaders taking on new roles within this congregation. I expect there will be conflicts as the old leaders gets cranky when the new leaders don’t do things exactly the same way we’ve always done things here. And I expect that you will find yourselves forced to do church business in new and uncomfortable ways pretty much across the board. I expect you will witness power struggles, and I also expect there will be hurt feelings now and then.

Fortunately, you will have a new interim minister to help you through this process. She will help you manage this change. She will help the new members find their voice. She will help the old-timers come to terms with all the changes. Much of her work will be pastoral, helping heal any hurts that arise. Some of her work will be prophetic, when she reminds this congregation that you are covenanted together in love.

As new leaders step into place, I expect you will face another big change, but this will be a fun change. At the moment, this congregation is largely isolated from the wider Unitarian Universalist movement. In large part, this congregation does not take part in fun and fellowship of district trainings, and regional workshops, and denominational meetings. Beginning no later than next fall, I expect this congregation will rediscover the wider world of Unitarian Universalism, and I expect you will find this to be great fun. It’s fun getting to know other Unitarian Universalists! Here again, your interim minister will help you out. But already, some of you are going to district meetings, and making connections with other congregations, and going to Unitarian Universalist summer camps. So renewing your connections with the wider Unitarian Universalist movement should be fun and easy.

And finally, you will find yourself making commitments to new directions in ministry. By this time next spring, I fully expect you will have voted to call a permanent second minister. You will have to do a good deal of preparation leading up to that vote, and that preparation has already begun. You have selected a search committee, and the search committee has already begun figuring out what kind of a permanent second minister you are going to want. They will develop surveys, and hold meetings, and talk with lots of people, and within a few months you will clarify what kind of second minister you want, and you will begin to look for him or her. By this time next year, you will have found that new associate minister, and you will then be done with your interim tasks.

Within a year, you will be done with your interim tasks. If you want to continue with the Noah story, the flood will have dried up, the earth will be green and fair, and you will be starting a whole new chapter in your life as a congregation.

Before I end, I have a few last words for you — a few last preachy things I want to say while I have this pulpit.

First: you are an amazing group of people, and I hope you will learn to tell others exactly why you are such a good congregation — you’re pretty good at identifying your weaknesses; now it’s time to learn to identify your strengths.

Second: you have an amazing building — you have been good at identifying the weaknesses of your building; now it’s time to learn to identify its strengths, and to use those strengths.

Third: don’t forget that you really like children and youth — because you do whether you admit it or not.

Finally: I believe you leave two words unspoken in your covenant. Each week, this congregation says, “We have associated ourselves together….” But each week, this congregation acts as if the covenant reads, “We have associated ourselves together in love.” If you remember nothing else I’ve said after I leave, remember that you always leave two words unspoken in your covenant.

You’re halfway there. Have fun next year as you finish up, and get all the way there.

This sermon was preached by Dan Harper at the Unitarian Universalist Society of Geneva, Illinois, on Saturday, January 8, and Sunday, January 9, 2005. As usual, the sermon below is a reading text. The actual sermon as preached contained ad libs, interjections, and other improvisation. Sermon copyright (c) 2005 Daniel Harper.

IMPORTANT NOTE: This sermon was preached many years ago, when I was an interim associate minister. The congregation who heard this sermon is now a completely different congregation. I post this here, because it’s an example of one kind of sermon that interim ministers used to preach.

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Readings

The first reading comes from words traditionally ascribed to King Solomon:

Take my instruction instead of silver,
and knowledge rather than choice gold;
For Wisdom [Sophia] is better than jewels,
and all that you may desire cannot compare with Her.
[Proverbs 8:10-11]

The second reading was a contemporary poem titled, “Money (That’s What I Want),” a song by Berry Gordy and Janie Bradford; the “reading” actually consisted of a recording of this song as performed by The Beatles.

Sermon

Our readings this morning give two different — I almost said “opposing” — opinions about money. In the first reading, we heard a proverb which has traditionally been attributed to King Solomon, that ancient king of Israel known for his deep wisdom and good common sense. Nowadays scholars are pretty sure that King Solomon didn’t really write this proverb, so I like to imagine that these words were spoken long ago by some great anonymous Hebrew sage.

As a follower of feminist theology, I like to imagine that these words were actually spoken by a woman sage or prophet. Carole Fontaine, a feminist scholar and self-proclaimed “Bible geek” (who also happens to be a Unitarian Universalist), writes: “The figure of Woman Wisdom may be a survival of goddess worship within the monotheistic structure of Israelite theology… At the very least, Woman Wisdom represents a synopsis of all the positive roles played by wives and mothers in Israelite society.” And so perhaps this is our collective Mother Goddess passing on her greatest wisdom to us: Choose wisdom rather than silver, or choice gold, or beautiful jewels; “and all that you may desire cannot compare with Her.”

Our second reading today is a contemporary poem or song which offers another opinion about money. The recording we heard was a fun, almost lighthearted interpretation of this poem by the early Beatles. I’m more familiar with a later recording of the song, interpreted by the Flying Lizards, which made the pop charts in Great Britain in 1979.

If you’ve ever heard that version, you cannot forget singer Deborah Evans’s deadpan rendition of the lyrics, backed by David Cunningham’s “poststructuralist” [according to Mark Allen’s fan Web site http://home.netcom.com/~logan5/], John-Cage-influenced instrumentals: “Your love brings me such a thrill/ But your love won’t pay my bills/ I want money.” This hip, postmodern rendition of a contemporary song couldn’t be more different than the words of the ancient Goddess found in the old Hebrew proverb….

…so which opinion do you find to be most true?

Now the pious among us might say, Why of course Wisdom is of more value than money. And the cynical rebels among us (that would be me) might reply, Yeah, but if you can’t pay the bills you’ll wind up on the street where you won’t have time for wisdom, so who are we trying to kid? Money — that’s what I want.

I believe there is a real and present tension between these two attitudes in our churches. Let’s explore that tension a little further. And to do that, I’d like to start with what I feel is absolutely the most fascinating branch of theology, which is to say ecclesiology — the study of how churches are supposed to work, and how they actually work in the real world.

Some of you may be familiar with James Luther Adams, who was the most prominent and best-loved Unitarian Universalist theologian of the past hundred years. Adams like to think of churches as “voluntary associations.” A voluntary association is a group of people who decide to come together to share some common bond or interests. Voluntary associations can range from the sublime, like our church — to the mundane or even silly, like the Barcroft Neighborhood Eighth Road Precision Lawnmower Drill Team, in Arlington, Virginia.

James Luther Adams believed that voluntary associations are the cornerstone of democracy. You see, in a mass democracy, one person’s voice doesn’t go very far — but when a group of people join their voices together, then they can be heard over the din of mass democracy. Adams also discovered that totalitarianism hates voluntary associations, and totalitarian governments always try to either shut down, co-opt, or severely limit, voluntary associations.

Here in the United States, churches and other religious groups are voluntary associations. For example, our Unitarian Universalist churches are not run by the government — nor are they run by multinational corporations — we run ‘em ourselves. So James Luther Adams says that our free churches open up space within mass democracy where your individual voice can be heard. Our free churches open up both a literal physical space — this beautiful building — and, metaphorically speaking, we also open up a figurative space where we can talk openly and freely about religion.

It is only by creating this open space that we can truly become seekers after truth and goodness — so I believe, anyway. Let me put it another way —

If you wanted to, you could leave this church and go off to become one individual seeking after truth and goodness on your own. But if you did try that, you would face two big problems. First, you would have only your own resources to draw upon. I think it would be hard to do all the reading on your own, to gather the insights, to check in with other people to be sure you weren’t deluding yourself,– all this to seek truth and goodness on your own. Given all that effort, it seems easier to simply return to church. Second, and more importantly, you would have to have enormous self-discipline to create a space for yourself — both a metaphorical space and a real, literal space — where you could carry on your search for truth and goodness.

This church creates that space where we can seek after truth and goodness. We have this space where we can come and sit and listen to sermons and stories and music, and sometimes we even get to enjoy a little silence together. And in the other spaces in this building, we get to have informal conversations over cups of coffee, and we get to meet in small group ministries, in education programs and study groups, and in support groups. This church gives us the space to engage in our search for truth, to receive help and guidance from others, and in our turn to guide and help other people in their searches for truth and goodness.

When you come right down to it, that’s what we spend our money on. The money we give to this church — and of course, the only place this church gets money is from us — our money pays the salaries of the ministers and staff who work as hard as they know how to keep this space physically open, intellectually open, emotionally open, religiously open. Theologically speaking, that’s what our money does in this church — and in my view, it’s really a balance between those two attitudes towards money with which we started.

I’m here as an interim minister. As a result, I am particularly curious to know whether or not people understand where their money goes, when they give money to their church. So I have been listening hard to try and hear what you all have to say about money. And I can sum up what I’ve heard very simply:

[SILENCE for 10 seconds]

Exactly. This congregation really doesn’t talk about money much at all. Except to say one of two things: “We don’t have enough money!” Or: “Good grief, why do we always have to be talking about money?! I’m not going to talk about money any more.”

Here’s how I have experienced this playing out in practice. When I arrived here six months ago, I immediately began to hear talk about how this church doesn’t have enough money. Yet although I came here expecting to be asked to pledge to this church — yet although I came here wanting to be asked to pledge to this church — no one would ask me for money. After two months, I brought this up at a Board meeting, and I asked for someone to canvass me (in other words, I asked for someone to sit down with me and talk about the church, and how much I might be able to give). Nothing happened. I asked the members of the Finance Committee to canvass me. Nothing happened.

Then Kevin O’Neill sent me a letter in October asking me to donate to the capital campaign, the fund drive to raise money to pay of the extensive restoration of the historic exterior of this building. At last! Someone had asked me for money. I carefully read the guidelines Kevin enclosed, and calculated that I should give $800 to the capital campaign, and sent my check in to the church.

But I still hadn’t been canvassed for my regular pledge. I asked the Board, I asked the Finance Committee, seems to me I asked the Membership Committee at one point, I began to ask random people in social hour. Somebody — take my money, please!

As you can gather from this little story, there is a certain reluctance here at this church to talk about money.

But if this church is so reluctant to talk about money, you may ask, why is it that people here report that they are sick of hearing talk about money? That same question came up for me, and I began to listen hard to what people were saying, and to ask a few questions.

And I got a good, solid answer to this question. People have told me again and again that they get tired of constant, ongoing, small demands for money for all sorts of programs and other things.

Here are some of the things people have told me they are tired of:– I have been told that people are tired of church school registration fees that keep going up (and as a result, I lowered them this year). A few people have said they are tired of registration fees for adult classes. Some people said they did not like to be asked to pay for coffee at social hour (and as a result, we have done away with the basket asking for donations for coffee money). Above all, I have heard that people do not like constant fundraisers during social hour. A number of people said they stopped going in to social hour because in the past there were always people selling something and it could cost you twenty bucks or more if you knew whoever was running the fundraiser. (And I am glad to report there has been far less fundraisers at social hour this church year — so if you are new, don’t be scared off by this story from the past — and furthermore, I tell you that with whatever power is invested in me as a Unitarian Universalist minister, I hereby empower you not to feel guilty when you say “no” to fundraisers at church.)

In short, people are correct — there have been too many requests for money here at this church. Theologians have a technical term for this phenomenon — it’s called “nickel-and-diming.” When your church constantly asks you for nickels and dimes, you tend to become cynical, and you tend to wind up giving far less money than you otherwise would give.

I believe nickel-and-diming is ending here at church. And I see signs that people are increasing their giving. Last weekend, even with low attendance due to the holiday, this church donated an astounding $2,849 for tsunami relief. We are a generous people. But we still don’t know if this increased generousity will in turn be extended to this church itself. How will you, the members and friends of this church, respond to the annual fundraising drive this spring?

Being a plain-spoken New England Yankee, let me give you some straight talk about my own pledge to this church. Because Rick Veague at last heard my plea, and agreed to canvass me — to ask me how much I’m willing to give to this church. Here’s what I told Rick:–

I make fifty thousand dollars a year. My goal for this year has been to give five percent of my annual gross income to my church — I’ve been working up to this level for about four years now. I particularly want to increase my level of giving to the liberal church this year because I feel our liberal voice is being drowned out by some strident voices from the far religious right.

Now, as an interim minister, I belong to the Church of the Larger Fellowship, or CLF. CLF is a Unitarian Universalist congregation that serves isolated and peripatetic Unitarian Universalists around the world, including those in the military or foreign service, other expatriates, those who live too far to drive to a Unitarian Universalist church, as well as people like interim ministers who have to move frequently.

I already pledged $900 to CLF this year. Since five percent of fifty thousand dollars is two thousand, five hundred dollars, that means I should pledge sixteen hundred dollars to this church. That’s what I told Rick Veague, and that, my friends, is the amount of my pledge.

I do not particularly care how many dollars you decide to give to this church. I do not even particularly care what percentage of your annual gross income you decide to give to this church this year. In practice, the calculations are not that simple. If you are out of work, or have recently been out of work, obviously you cannot give as much money to the church this year! If you are in your twenties, you are not likely to be earning much, and so you might give less. If you are still paying off loans for education, again you will wind up giving less.

Similarly, if you are in your peak earning years, with a stable job, you should be giving more to the church, in part to help out those who can’t afford to give right now. And if you are retired and on a fixed income, your ability to give cash may be limited, and so you may choose to work out some kind of planned giving or future bequest. There is no single, simple calculation — no easy equation that generates a firm dollar amount.

I said I do not particularly care how many dollars you decide to give to this church. What I do care about is your level of commitment. To my way of thinking, if you are trying to achieve financial stability soon with the hope of being able to give something to the church in the future — then you have a high level of commitment to the church. I am more impressed by your level of commitment, than I am by some specific dollar amount, or by some percentage of income. Your commitment is revealed to you in your heart of hearts; not in some arbitrary numbers.

By now, you may be thinking:– Oh, so that’s where Dan stands, he agrees more with the song: “Your love won’t pay the bills, I want money”; Dan stands opposed to the Proverb, where Wisdom is more important than jewels.

Well, maybe. But remember, we’re not taking a stand somewhere, we are trying to balance between these two.

We live in a world dominated by money; a world where you and I are judged by how much money we have. One of the reasons I come to church is to be in a space where people care less about my money, and more about my humanity.

We keep this church as an open space where we can seek truth and goodness, where we can be more authentically human. No wonder we don’t want to talk about money here. We don’t want to sully our sacred, open space. But it takes money to keep this space open, to hold back the money so we can come here to get away from money and be more authentically who we are.

We have inherited Wisdom from our ancestors. We have inherited this open space where we can meet Wisdom. We can continue to use money to keep this space open —

Or not.

You get to choose.