When There Are No Leaves Nor Fruit

There’s this odd little story in the Christian scriptures, recorded in the gospels of both Mark and Matthew.  Jesus goes over to a fig tree to get some figs to share with his friends, but there are no figs.  Only leaves.  So Jesus, perhaps in a fit of pique, says to the tree, “May no one ever eat of your fruit again.” (Dun dun dunnn)  The next day they’re all walking by that tree again, and one of Jesus’ friends notices that now there are neither leaves nor fruit.  Overnight the tree had withered and died.    

I don’t know exactly what that story is supposed to teach us, but I’m sure that there are as many ways of interpreting that story as there are people doing the interpreting.  For my purposes this morning, I want to leave the bit of magic aside and look at this as a story about a tree that had not lived up to its full potential and, so, withered and died.

There are a lot of reasons plants fail to thrive.  Most often it’s because there’s something that they need that they aren’t getting – too much (or too little) sun, too little (or too much) water, not enough nutrients in the soil.  Plants don’t just come to flower and fruit on their own.  Without the resources they need they may have all the good intentions in the world, all the heart, all the desire to be all that they can be, but they’re not going to make it.  At best they’ll become stunted versions of what they could have been.  At worst, they’ll wither and die.

We see this in our own lives, don’t we?  If our relationships don’t have the honesty, the commitment, the investment of time and heart, that they need, they don’t thrive, do they?  If we’re struggling with an addiction, yet are trying to do so on our own, without the support of family, friends, sponsors, our recovery can be … stunted.  Take just about anything in your life, anything important, anything of value – if it doesn’t get the resources it needs, it doesn’t go very far, does it?

Now … if the teaser on Facebook, or Lorie’s Opening Words didn’t telegraph it to you, I want us to look at the church — this church, our church — through the lens of this metaphor of a tree with neither leaves nor fruit, a tree withered and dead because it hadn’t had the resources to live up to its full potential.  I don’t think we’re on the verge of withering and dying.  I do think that we’re not living up to our full potential.

If this is your first visit, or if you’ve only come a few times, I hope you won’t find this to be too much “insiders talk.”  Because I am talking to you too, actually.  I believe deeply that we make of ourselves members of this community at the moment we decide to come back.  And if you keep coming back, the future of this community will rest as much in your hands as in those of the folks who’ve been part of this place for decades.  This is not their church.  If we do this thing called “community” right, it is ours.  All of ours.  It belongs to us, and, again, if we do this right, we belong to it.

Yet from where I stand — and sit and listen, and work, play, pray, cry, and laugh with you all — it is not entirely clear to me that we are “doing this right.”  All congregations have their struggles, of course.  All faith communities are, first and foremost, communities — communities of trying-our-best-yet-fallible-human-beings.  Still, there are stresses and strains in our systems which worry me. 

The basic needs of plants are often summed up as:  water, sun, and nutrient-rich soil.  Other things are involved, of course, and it’s really the interplay among them that is needed for a plant to thrive, but that shorthand makes some sense – water, sun, and nutrient-rich soil.  For a congregation to thrive there are also a whole host of things it needs, and it’s really the interplay among them that is most determinative, but I’d suggest that the needs of a congregation can also be summed in three things (which, conveniently, all begin with the letter “c”) – committed engagement, courage, and … well … cash.

Each of these could be a sermon unto itself.  Several sermons, I’m sure.  This morning, though, I’m only going to focus on one … the last of the set … cash.  You can guess where this is heading.  But before I go there, I want you all to know that I know that as soon as I, or anyone else, begins to talk explicitly about money, it gets uncomfortable for some people.  So I want to be clear as I can be that I recognize the fact that we don’t all live in the same economic reality.  I strongly believe that one of our strengths as a community is that we are not the homogeneous upper-middle class, overly educated, Prius-driving stereotype so many have of Unitarian Universalists (and which even many of us have of ourselves!).  There are people like that here, of course, yet our membership also includes people whose income is considerably less than upper-middle class, and whose educational background doesn’t include Ph.D.s and is far less formal.  I believe deeply that this diversity is a tremendous asset – if we can learn to really see and value it.  As we said at the start of the service, and say each week, “We all have a place here.  We all are welcome here.”  Admittedly, we still have a ways to go before we’re fully living the truth of that, before we even fully understand what it means, actually, but I believe it is where we’re headed.

All that said, I don’t believe there is anyone here who can’t pledge some amount of financial support.  $1 a month.  $1 a year, even.  Sure, that may not seem like a lot of money, yet to my mind all three of these Cs are intertwined, and a pledge of $1 a month, or $1 a year from someone who is living with little, would be a much more powerful demonstration of commitment than a much larger pledge from someone who’s got a lot to spare.  Oh how I’d love to see more $10, $5, $1 pledges!  That would mean to me that we’ve reached a place where everyone can see that their contribution – no matter how seemingly small – is really valued, and that they are really valued, not matter how seemingly little they had to give. 

On the other hand, to be both honest and blunt, there are a number of us who could afford to pledge far more than we currently do.  Some no doubt think that we can’t really need them to give more – after all, things don’t seem to be going too badly here.  Well, the truth is – blunt and honest – that we do not have, and have not had for some time, the kind of financial support we need to survive, much less thrive and live both into and out of, our full potential.  It may not look like it – hopefully it doesn’t look too much like it – but if we were a fig tree, I’d be hoping that Jesus didn’t come by looking for figs.  The consultant who worked with us this summer said that he was surprised at our remarkably low percentage of congregational giving.  (And that’s from someone who works Unitarian Universalists, who have a national reputation for being among the least financially supportive of our congregations!)  Even in that context, he said he was surprised at how poorly we support ourselves.

But not for lack of trying.  The consultant also said it was clear to him that the people who have been running our pledge drives over the years have known what they were doing, and have run really good campaigns.  We’ve been doing the right things, yet for some reason our level of pledging has remained essentially static for quite some time, declining slightly, even, in the last couple of years.

I’ll name it:  there is no question that the first four or five years of our mutual ministry was … rocky.  There was fairly widespread dissatisfaction with my performance as Lead Minister, and, I would have to say, rightfully so.  Of course, there are lots of explanations, but really, no excuses.  The results of the 2015 Congregational Survey, which the Committee on the Ministry will be repeating this year, were a real wake-up call and a catalyst change, several changes, in the ways I do what I do.  In the ensuing years it seems that most folks say they’ve felt real and meaningful improvement.  Yet, while that dissatisfaction could no doubt explain some of the financial … reticence … of some members, the basic trend we’re wrestling with was here before I came, and has continued despite the improvements.

Some say that we are trying to be too big of a congregation, that our ambitions outstrip our willingness to support them.  We may want to be a larger, so-called “program-size” church, we may try to act like one, yet, these folks say, we demonstrate year after year that we’re really only interested in being a smaller, pastoral-size church, because we show ourselves year after year that that’s all we’re able (or willing) to afford.  The answer to our financial stuck-ness, then, is to stop trying to be what we’re not, find a more natural equilibrium, shift our ambitions to meet our reality, and to “live within our means.”

And we could certainly do this.  There can be great wisdom in vigorously pruning a plant that has grown too large.  Sometimes the cutting back is so severe that it can look to the untrained eye that you’ve killed the thing; yet in the next spring that plant could come back stronger than ever.  So … we could cut back here.  To do so you would have to cut back on staff; there is simply nothing else to cut in our budget that would have any substantive impact.  So you could ask me or Leia to take a 50% pay cut.  You could decide to eliminate one or more of the part-time positions we have here, like the Office Manager, the Assistant Minister, or the Director of Music, asking volunteers to take on these roles.  But make no mistake, cutting staff in one way or another is the only way to “live within our means” through cutting expenses. 

Oh, and since we're currently severely understaffed for the size we are, if you were to cut staff we’d also have to decide which hundred or so members we’d want to ask to leave.  With less staff, in order to “live within our means,” we would have to reduce the number of people who can call this their spiritual home, because we just couldn't serve them all.

There is another option, though.  The only other option as I see it, and to my mind the only really viable one.  Rather than cutting back, we could invest more.  But how we do we that in light of what I’ve been saying about how we don’t have enough as it is?  We do it with faith. With courage.

Farmers, and others, know that sometimes, when you don’t have enough, you need to invest what you don’t have in order to reap the increased harvest that you believe is possible.  Sometimes you sell off some of what you have so that you can invest it in what you need.  We did that when we sold U-House to pay for rennovations on Summit House and the creation of our beautiful Lower Hall.  But sometimes you take out a loan to pay for new seed, or new equipment, or something you don’t have yet, can’t currently afford on your own, yet know in your bones will make all the difference in the world to your future success.  It’s scary, for sure, and is rarely – if ever – a sure thing.  It is always possible to dig yourself even deeper into a hole than you were before, that’s true.  So it’s a risk.  A gamble.  Yet sometimes it is the only thing to do, and you’ll do it if you’re truly committed to a vision, and you have the courage of your conviction.

Last year the Board was courageous in asking the congregation to do just that, to take a little risk, to borrow now so that we can reap a greater harvest tomorrow, to, paraphrasing Dr. King, “take the first step even though we can’t see the whole staircase.”  There was some vocal, and very heartfelt, opposition from some long-time members — who also, it must be said, have their understanding of the best interest of the church in mind.  Even so, the majority of the congregation agreed that the promise of the future is worth a short-term risk, and is worth investing in.

My friends, we are capable of being so much more – we are so much more – than what our long-echoing narratives of scarcity and fear have told us we can be.  A few years back, during a Board retreat, someone used these words to describe their vision for our congregation:  a powerhouse for racial justice.  (I’m hoping we’ll have tee shirts with that on it as part of our celebration of our 75^th anniversary!) 

Recently Sally Taylor, our unofficial church historian, shared with me a copy of a sermon that long-time member Virginia James had given to her.  It was preached here in 1983, the 40^th anniversary of the congregation’s founding, and was delivered by the first settled minister to serve this community, the Rev. Malcolm Sutherland.  In describing the earliest years of this congregation, Rev. Sutherland said, “We stood unequivocally for human justice … and here that meant racial equality.”  From our earliest days we have understood this to be our mission.  He said, further, that in those early days, when there was talk of trying to become a truly integrated congregation, some of the African American leaders encouraged us in our efforts, yet added, “We would much rather see you a strong white church fighting for equal rights for all than a small interracial church too weak to have any affect.”  I see in that a charge to become the powerhouse for racial justice that we are, today, reclaiming as our vision.

And it’s not just an idle vision, this desire to live into our full potential to which we were called in the days of our founding!  The future the Board last year asked you to invest in, and that I, this morning, am asking us to invest in … we’ve seen it!  We saw it, we tasted it this summer, following the awful events of August 12^th, which put the name of our city on the nation’s lips. Many know the story.  One day our Director of Administration and Finance, Christina Rivera, fielded a call asking if the Rev. Jesse Jackson could preach here that coming Sunday.  Of course, Rev. Jackson could have spoken at any of the prominent African American congregations in the city, but he wanted to speak in a predominantly white congregation as a recognition of the truth that all of us — however we identify — are in this struggle together.  Rev. Jackson said that this congregation, our congregation, had been recommended to him as a predominantly white congregation that not only talked about racial justice, but was active in trying to achieve it. 

This congregation, which worked, in its infancy, for “indiscriminate seating on buses,” the hiring of African Americans onto the city’s police force, the movement of African American patients from hospital hallways into rooms, and the use of respectful titles in newspapers. 

This congregation, the only public place where a small, informal and impromptu interracial square dance could break out in celebration of the Supreme Court’s declaration that “separate but equal” was unconstitutional, because ours was the only public building in Charlottesville in which integrated gatherings were permitted (which led to a cross being burned on our property). 

This congregation, which opened the first integrated preschool in the city; this congregation, which the local chapter of Black Lives Matter has said it knows it can count on.

This congregation, in which there are individuals who whose work in preparing for August 12^th can, without hyperbole, be said to have saved lives that day.

This congregation is where Rev. Jackson chose to speak. 

Those who were here experienced the buzzed, like the crackle of electricity, as our members stepped forward, hell, leapt forward to engage, to be useful, to be part of it all.  And we saw our sanctuary filled with to overflowing.  In fact, the Social Hall, which had been designated a place for that overflow, itself overflowed to seating we’d set up outside on the lawn!  And those who were there could feel it – this Unitarian Universalist congregation was living both into and out from its full potential.  It was an extraordinary day.  And Rev. Jackson underscored this vision of who we are when he came to us again and asked us to host a community leadership summit he was calling for when he returned to Charlottesville a month or so later to launch a bus tour across Virginia.

That is who we can be.  That is who we are, even if only nascently.  Yet we can be the “powerhouse for racial justice” so very many of us believe we can, and should, be only if — only if— if we believe in this vision and act on that belief.  We can only ensure that our “tree” has not just leaves, but flowers and fruit as well, and for years and years to come, if we each of us, and all of us, will have the courage to step up the level of our committed engagement and – to be blunt and honest again – to increase the amount of cash we’re

In a moment, the ushers will pass among you to collect this morning’s financial offering, and I hope you will be as generous as you can.  (This is also the time to make your gifts to support the African American Teaching Fellows.)  Following the ushers, others will have blank pledge cards.  I encourage everyone to take one and to reflect on whether you are able to increase what you have pledged for this year (and if you haven’t yet pledged for this year, to do so).  I also encourage you to consider your generous pledge for next year, for which we are already beginning to try to build a budget. 

And whether you can pledge $10 a year, or $10,000 a month, I encourage you to fill out the card today, this morning, right now, as you sit here, and then, as you leave, to put it into one of the boxes you’ll find at each of the doors, and in the Social Hall.  (On the back there is a chart that offers some guidance about what might be an appropriate level for your pledge, as a percentage of your income and as a reflection of your committed engagement.)  If you’re not able to decide on an amount right now, I’d still encourage you to fill out the card as much as you can, noting that you will make a pledge, and an estimate of the date by which you intend to do so.  (You can easily make a pledge at any time online at our website.)

It’s been said that, “the free church is not free.”  The Rev. Gordon McKeeman — Unitarian Universalist minister, and beloved member of this congregation in his retirement — would often remind us that we are responsible for supporting our community.  It is our responsibility — no one else’s — to ensure that it has the resources it needs to achieve its full potential, to ensure that there will be leaves, flowers, and fruit on its branches with which to nurture a world that is so hungry for true justice and all-embracing love.

Pax tecum,

RevWik

Musings on Money

Last Sunday, Mother's Day, I noted that I'd much rather preach the annual canvas sermon to my congregation than the annual Mothers' Day sermon.  (I said, "Nobody wants to talk about money, but some people actually like their mothers . . ."  I said that on Mothers' Day it's harder to find the right balance.)

But that got me thinking about money and, specifically, the giving of money to the church.  That and the fact that last week we also announced to the congregation I serve that a goodly number of people have paid nothing on this year's pledge and that, two months out from the end of our fiscal year, if we were to add up all of the currently unpaid pledges from folks who've paid 50% or less of this year's pledge we'd be looking at approximately $100,000.  That's $100,000 that our community members have promised to one another, and that we've budgeted for, but that at least so far looks like won't be coming in.  (And if we add up all the pledges from folks who've pledged for this year but not yet for next year then we'd be looking at $200,000 of shortfall next year.)  And, yet, most of the folks I see on Sunday mornings seem to be feeling really good about our congregation; seem to be feeling really engaged and energized.  So something's not clicking; there's some kind of disconnect.

I know that a lot of people from Thomas Jefferson Memorial Church - Unitarian Universalist read this blog, yet a lot of folks from other UU churches (as well as from churches of other stripes and no churches at all) do too.  So I'm really not musing here about the fiscal foibles of the congregation I'm currently serving.  I really am thinking about money, and the giving of money to the church, in a wider context.  I'm really dancing with a pretty generalized question.

Why is it that so many faith communities have so much trouble raising the funds needed to do the things they do from the very people who are the primary beneficiaries of those things?  

It seems odd, and I know is frustrating to church leaders widely, that this is so.  In general congregations -- again, at least the liberal/progressive congregations I know the most about -- are almost always one small problem away from disaster.  No matter how excited their members are about what's happening in the church the annual budget process is always a matter of figuring out how to squeeze the most out of every last dollar.  Year after year congregations "muddle through," knowing how much more they could do if they were better funded, yet not being able to increase the congregation's financial offerings.  There's an old joke -- the minister ascends to the pulpit and says, "I have good news, and I have bad news.  The good news is that we have all the money we need to create the church of our dreams!  The bad news is that most of it is stuck in your wallets." 

I think that there are probably several reasons for this.  Here are three:

People no longer know what's appropriate to give.  This is a big one, especially in congregations in which a lot of folks grew up outside of "the church."  This is definitely true of a lot of Unitarian Universalist congregations -- where in many cases a majority of members grew up in other denominations or outside of any organized religion -- but it's increasingly true within all liberal faith communities. That institutional memory of just what it takes to keep a church alive -- and the institutional commitment needed to do it -- just hasn't been passed down efficiently from one generation to the next.  My parents, and even more my parents parents, knew and understood the meaning of the phrase "sacrificial giving."  They understood that the goal of giving -- especially giving to a church -- was not to try to get away with giving as little as you can, or to give only what one is comfortable giving, but to give to the point that you feel it.  To give to the extent that there's a little sacrifice in one's giving.  I'm afraid that this is a foreign concept to the majority of people in the majority of today's congregations.

I've known double-income couples where one is a doctor and the other a lawyer and yet whose annual pledge to their church was less than that made by a single-income elementary school teacher.  To be fair, the former probably also gave to other charities as well, and may have had other expenses like country club dues and marina fees for their boat that the teacher didn't have.  It really doesn't work to compare one person's donation to another's on a dollar-to-dollar basis.  It is fascinating, though, to think about our giving on a percentage-of-income basis.  (And, as my mentor was fond of saying, "if you're asking gross or net you're missing the point.)

So . . . my family and I give roughly 3% of our income to the church.  It's a stretch for us, yet one that feels really worth it to us.  We believe in what church, in general, and Unitarian Universalist churches, in particular, can do for individuals and for the community.  And while 3% is nowhere near the tradition of a tithe -- 10% -- I feel pretty good about.  In part that's because it's an amount that, as I said, is a stretch for us.  In part it's also because I know that I've heard the figure that the average Unitarian Universalist gives 1% or less.  (And if you add up all of their charitable giving it comes in at less than 3%.)  I know that there are plenty of people giving considerably more than that, but there are considerably more who are giving a whole lot less.  In fact, I've heard it said that if everyone in the average congregation were to give only 2% of their income to the church -- and that means both that the folks below that mark increase but also that those above decrease to it -- most congregations would be able to double, if not triple, their budgets.

Another reason for the challenges many churches have in this area is that churches never really learned how to ask for money.  If you think about the congregational appeals you may have received -- or participated in -- over the years I think you'd agree that the vast majority of them sound something like this:

Well!  We barely scraped by last year, and that only because we cut everything to the bare bones.  We'd really like to do some good things this year, so we really, really, really hope you'll give our church some money because otherwise we're going to be in serious trouble . . . again.

Right?  Yet have you ever received an appeal from any other non-profit that sounded like that?  No matter how tight things might have actually been, most non-profits frame their appeals for donations in terms of all the good they are doing and all the visions they have of the future.  Rather than begging you to solve their desperate problems they invite you to help create new solutions.

This observation comes from a wonderful new book that I recently discovered.  (Actually, I didn't discover it.  A colleague who's recommendations I greatly respect, Tandi Rogers, mentioned it on FaceBook a month or so ago, and I immediately ordered myself a copy!)  The book is Not Your Parents' Offering Plate: a new vision for financial stewardship by J. Clif Christopher.  Rev. Christopher, a long-time parish minister and now professional fundraising consultant for churches, challenges much of the conventional wisdom of congregations about how to ask for money and, for that matter, why we do it.  A bottom-line summary of the book might be this:  organizationally, the church is a non-profit, so it might be wise to heed the lessons learned by virtually every other non-profit when it comes to successfully soliciting donations.

Here's one practical ramification of this notion -- how many other institutions give each and every one of their potential donors their entire line-item budget?  Not many.  Pretty much none, actually.  That's because these other institutions realize that people don't give to support such a detailed description of costs incurred; nobody donates to ensure that an organization can buy more copy paper next year.  People donate to a vision and, even more, to a vision enacted -- people give their money (as well as their time and their energy) to people served, lives changes, impact made.  Yet it is the rare congregation that actually engages its constituents at this level come pledge time.  More often it's making a plaintive plea for folks to increase their pledges enough so that they might be able to make a minute adjustment to a budget that barely allowed them to scrape by this past year.  Not particularly inspiring.

There may be another, perhaps even more fundamental, reason than this.  Today I was listening to the TED Radio Hour on NPR and heard a wonderful program about giving.  One segment looked at Dan Pallotta, whose original TED Talk is below.  Pallotta asserts that even non-profits really don't understand what's needed when it comes to inspiring philanthropic giving and that, "the things we've been taught to think about giving, and about charity, and about the non-profit sector are actually undermining the causes we love and our profound yearning to change the world."  As I listened I thought about the situation at TJMC, and the situation in liberal/progressive faith communities generally, and I thought it worth sharing some of these musings.

I know I've been away from the blogosphere for a while, and I know that this is an awfully long re-introduction, but I hope that you'll give this topic just about 18 more minutes so that you can listen to what Dan Pallotta has to say.  I hope you'll find it as worthwhile as I have.

In Gassho,

RevWik