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I don't know how you were raised. But at my family home, there was always a belief that those who performed well and acted well, were elevated from the crowd.
They became the chosen ones.
Picked first for games. Singled out at school for good grades. Celebrated. Honored. Selected. Plucked from the masses. Ushered to the front of the room for fame and glory.
So today I have been chosen from among all of you for the privilege of delivering the most thankless, unwanted, dreaded job in churchdom ... That of uttering the words dripping with guilt that no one on Earth ever wants to hear.
Stewardship. Giving. Pledge. Bank account withdrawal.
This is an honor? What it is is the revelation of my shame.
Trust me on that shame part. True story.
It was a pleasant Thursday just a few weeks ago. At Habitat, where I work, we get paid every other Thursday. And I am old-fashioned guy. I dutifully separate my income in a ledger with pen and paper. There's a column on the far left for savings, another for my condo mortgage, for insurance, yadda yadda. At the top of the column on the far right is the single word CHURCH. That's where my pledge goes.
I don't know the reason, but on this Thursday I looked at that column under Church. I saw the accumulation of money. I pay quarterly and I thought about the total for the year. And I had a fleeting thought. What ... if next year ... I just kept this money.
Oh, what I could do with it. I don't think I've been to France in three years. If I worked it right, I could get a seat at the World Series of Poker Championships in Las Vegas. If you know me, you'd understand how important that would be to me.
It was a fleeting thought. It was here and then gone. Vanished.
That very Sunday, I came to church. Everything was great as usual. I saw Craig Withers coming towards me. We shook hands. We always do. We each wondered how the other one was doing. And then Craig began a new sentence ... "The stewardship committee ..."
That's all I heard. It was all I needed to hear. In an instant I realized I was getting a gotcha from God.
In a way I thought it was funny. And now this is my penance.
I also figured this was how I would begin my talk. With the story you just heard. And like any goofus, I needed to try out my material.
So recently I was having lunch with Patricia and a Habitat colleague of mine. When we were done and on the way to our cars, I began my little story. You know. to see how it might play to a crowd.
I should have known what would happen.
I have known this woman for more than 30 years. I helped bury Patricia's cat. I helped her by editing story after story she wrote when we worked at the newspaper in Nashville. And all this time, she's never cut me any slack. None.
So I gave my little spiel. Without missing a beat, she said ... and I should mention right here the fact that I paid for lunch ... but she said, and I quote, "You know this means that now you have to increase your pledge."
Why me?
OK. So I have to start thinking about why I need to pledge. Why I need to give. Why I need to do it with a whole heart.
That's really what I would like. So I tried to think of a situation where I could honestly say I've never had a fleeting thought like that. And it came in an instant.
Those of you who are parents, I'm not going to tell you anything you don't already know. I have two grown sons. They mean everything to me.
I think most everyone knows I am divorced. And it was not a pleasant experience. It was the darkest, most soul-shattering event in my life. And to top it off, my ex-wife and I both worked at the AJC at the time. Our desks were roughly 10 feet apart. If I looked up and to the right and if she looked up and to her right, we were eye to eye. For one solid year. Imagine going through a divorce like that.
I am so much happier now. And people have asked me, knowing what you know now, would you go through it again and marry Miriam.
It's such an easy answer. Absolutely. Of course. Without Miriam and me, there would be no John. There would be no Daniel.
I would go again through every wonderful, horrible, miraculous, disastrous moment just to have John and Daniel.
I know that's how I want to feel about my pledge. I want there to be no question, no alternative.
So I've thought recently about what my church means to me. Can it mean as much to me as my sons?
In the past year, I've gone through a tremendous life change. I thought long and hard about leaving a profession that I firmly believed in my youth would define my entire life. I found new work, inspiration and fulfillment in Habitat for Humanity.
You just don't know what you ... all of you ... did to help make it happen. The sermons, so wonderfully written, the Sunday school discussions (on very rare occasions when I am there), the choir, the vestry, the comforting ritual, the communion of people ... Foyer, the monthly bridge sessions. And let me tell you, you haven't really played bridge until you've played against the the ultimate ringer, Helen Bealer, who when she's sitting on your right and you are stumped and sure you won't make your game and you happen to utter, "I'm not going to make this," she responds, without missing a beat, "I know. You won't." ... all of this has helped me.
It all gives me strength, it helps me perservere.
I could not manuever through Habitat, where every single person believes he or she runs the place without having had the wonderful experience of St. Dunstan's, where every single person does run the place.
I find comfort that sometimes during the work week, driving back and forth between Atlanta and Americus, I find myself singing. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
This church has been healthy during troubled economic times. But it has done so mainly by cutting Outreach. There is no honor in that. And I cannot believe I am the one that is about to say this, but the diocese should be supported at 100 percent.
Trust and believe and God provides. I'm not going to France this year. I am going to Thailand. On Tuesday. For Habitat. On money provided entirely by donations from people who expect me to help others.
That's what I've wanted. That's now what I'm being blessed with.
I promise you, I am now closer to the point of my church meaning the same to me as my sons.
What I ask of you is just this: Love your neighbor, love your self, love your family, love your children, and love your church.
Make your pledge with faith and love.
They became the chosen ones.
Picked first for games. Singled out at school for good grades. Celebrated. Honored. Selected. Plucked from the masses. Ushered to the front of the room for fame and glory.
So today I have been chosen from among all of you for the privilege of delivering the most thankless, unwanted, dreaded job in churchdom ... That of uttering the words dripping with guilt that no one on Earth ever wants to hear.
Stewardship. Giving. Pledge. Bank account withdrawal.
This is an honor? What it is is the revelation of my shame.
Trust me on that shame part. True story.
It was a pleasant Thursday just a few weeks ago. At Habitat, where I work, we get paid every other Thursday. And I am old-fashioned guy. I dutifully separate my income in a ledger with pen and paper. There's a column on the far left for savings, another for my condo mortgage, for insurance, yadda yadda. At the top of the column on the far right is the single word CHURCH. That's where my pledge goes.
I don't know the reason, but on this Thursday I looked at that column under Church. I saw the accumulation of money. I pay quarterly and I thought about the total for the year. And I had a fleeting thought. What ... if next year ... I just kept this money.
Oh, what I could do with it. I don't think I've been to France in three years. If I worked it right, I could get a seat at the World Series of Poker Championships in Las Vegas. If you know me, you'd understand how important that would be to me.
It was a fleeting thought. It was here and then gone. Vanished.
That very Sunday, I came to church. Everything was great as usual. I saw Craig Withers coming towards me. We shook hands. We always do. We each wondered how the other one was doing. And then Craig began a new sentence ... "The stewardship committee ..."
That's all I heard. It was all I needed to hear. In an instant I realized I was getting a gotcha from God.
In a way I thought it was funny. And now this is my penance.
I also figured this was how I would begin my talk. With the story you just heard. And like any goofus, I needed to try out my material.
So recently I was having lunch with Patricia and a Habitat colleague of mine. When we were done and on the way to our cars, I began my little story. You know. to see how it might play to a crowd.
I should have known what would happen.
I have known this woman for more than 30 years. I helped bury Patricia's cat. I helped her by editing story after story she wrote when we worked at the newspaper in Nashville. And all this time, she's never cut me any slack. None.
So I gave my little spiel. Without missing a beat, she said ... and I should mention right here the fact that I paid for lunch ... but she said, and I quote, "You know this means that now you have to increase your pledge."
Why me?
OK. So I have to start thinking about why I need to pledge. Why I need to give. Why I need to do it with a whole heart.
That's really what I would like. So I tried to think of a situation where I could honestly say I've never had a fleeting thought like that. And it came in an instant.
Those of you who are parents, I'm not going to tell you anything you don't already know. I have two grown sons. They mean everything to me.
I think most everyone knows I am divorced. And it was not a pleasant experience. It was the darkest, most soul-shattering event in my life. And to top it off, my ex-wife and I both worked at the AJC at the time. Our desks were roughly 10 feet apart. If I looked up and to the right and if she looked up and to her right, we were eye to eye. For one solid year. Imagine going through a divorce like that.
I am so much happier now. And people have asked me, knowing what you know now, would you go through it again and marry Miriam.
It's such an easy answer. Absolutely. Of course. Without Miriam and me, there would be no John. There would be no Daniel.
I would go again through every wonderful, horrible, miraculous, disastrous moment just to have John and Daniel.
I know that's how I want to feel about my pledge. I want there to be no question, no alternative.
So I've thought recently about what my church means to me. Can it mean as much to me as my sons?
In the past year, I've gone through a tremendous life change. I thought long and hard about leaving a profession that I firmly believed in my youth would define my entire life. I found new work, inspiration and fulfillment in Habitat for Humanity.
You just don't know what you ... all of you ... did to help make it happen. The sermons, so wonderfully written, the Sunday school discussions (on very rare occasions when I am there), the choir, the vestry, the comforting ritual, the communion of people ... Foyer, the monthly bridge sessions. And let me tell you, you haven't really played bridge until you've played against the the ultimate ringer, Helen Bealer, who when she's sitting on your right and you are stumped and sure you won't make your game and you happen to utter, "I'm not going to make this," she responds, without missing a beat, "I know. You won't." ... all of this has helped me.
It all gives me strength, it helps me perservere.
I could not manuever through Habitat, where every single person believes he or she runs the place without having had the wonderful experience of St. Dunstan's, where every single person does run the place.
I find comfort that sometimes during the work week, driving back and forth between Atlanta and Americus, I find myself singing. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
This church has been healthy during troubled economic times. But it has done so mainly by cutting Outreach. There is no honor in that. And I cannot believe I am the one that is about to say this, but the diocese should be supported at 100 percent.
Trust and believe and God provides. I'm not going to France this year. I am going to Thailand. On Tuesday. For Habitat. On money provided entirely by donations from people who expect me to help others.
That's what I've wanted. That's now what I'm being blessed with.
I promise you, I am now closer to the point of my church meaning the same to me as my sons.
What I ask of you is just this: Love your neighbor, love your self, love your family, love your children, and love your church.
Make your pledge with faith and love.
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