Here it is, Sign Up Sunday, and Janet has asked me to say a few words about stewardship in hopes of getting every one of us to collectively take on the many activities that make this church function. I want you to know that I fully intend to fulfill that hope, and I'm counting on each of you to do your part.
Actually, as is my practice, I've already said most of what I want to say in the stone-soup story, but for those who need real fire-and-brimstone sermonizing, let's start with the standard U-U spiel. Which goes something like this. Why do people come to U-U churches? "For many reasons," goes the standard spiel.
We come on our their own personal search for truth and meaning in their lives. But, gosh, you don't a church for that. Many, I'm told, feel that they ought to have some church and the ones that they are raised in just aren't acceptable. And what isn't acceptable about those other churches is that someone else-a priest or preacher, some distant god, or just fate itself is in control. Not so, here. Every one of us is responsible for our own religious life. Each of us is the little red hen. Something to remember when you're deciding whether or not to sign up today. We come because the church has something in particular to offer us. For some, it's a place for children to be grounded in a loving, religious community. For others it's a place for fellowship. For others, it's a vehicle for social action. Others come for the music; well, maybe not this church, at least, not yet.
And so, goes the standard spiel, it's like the story of the wine festival. I'm sure you know how it goes. A village, maybe the same village where stone soup was made, was having a wine festival. Every villager was to contribute a skin full of wine to the festival, each ceremoniously pouring their contribution into a communal vat before engaging in a communal drunk. One farmer, Jones, however figured that if he dumped full of water into the vat, no one would notice since there would be so much wine from the other villagers. So he hoarded his wine and used water instead. Imagine his surprise when, taking a first sip from the communal vat, he found it to be nothing but water.
That's the standard spiel. Put nothing in, and you'll get nothing out. But I think the standard spiel misses a great deal about what it is to be in a U-U church. Sure, we're a rational, action-oriented denomination; always have been. We do, do, do, because we know, know, know, that it's right, right, right. "Forward through the Ages," as the song says
But, for most of us, I think, or for me, at least, something happens along the way. We fall in love, in love with our church. I don't mean romantic love of course, but something like the love we feel for children and puppies (note the shameless use of sentimental imagery). The church becomes something dear to us, an institution that we truly feel responsible for and one that we would not, for the life of us, see die. So, we take care of our church, even when it's not so convenient for us to do so, not just because we think its right or because we think we'll reap the benefits, but, out of love.
And this church especially, is easy to love. Like a child or a puppy, it's small, and tender, and utterly dependent on you, and, it will always be here for you, no matter what. You could walk out today with no explanation, and come back next year, and still be welcome. When it's all said and done, I come here for the love of this place.
So here's the deal on stewardship. There's the wine-festival lesson. Put nothing in, and you'll get nothing out, the standard U-U spiel. But there's also the children and puppies lesson. Fall in love with this church, if you're not already in love with it. Then you'll do what needs to be done for love's sake. And this year, the church has made it easy for you by serving up (in addition to, yecch, salads) a fantastic stone soup. This year, you don't have to worry about the whole meal, or even a single course. Just bring a few ingredients, a turnip or potato. Make nametags, put together an adult RE class, take RE for for a Sunday or two. There are enough possibilities in this small space we've carved out for ourselves for everyone to do something. And, if everyone does do something, we'll be alright. In fact, we'll be more than alright.