Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 23, Year A)

A Sermon From All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Briarcliff Manor
Sermon preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck, Rector, on October 13, 2002. 
Based on Matthew 22:1-14 (Proper 23, Year A).

October means different things to different people. To some it means leaves changing colors, to others the free-candy fest that is Halloween, and to others it means looking forward to that glorious weekend when we gain an hour for daylight savings. For Episcopalians, however, October means coming to church and hearing the obligatory stewardship sermon.

There are many approaches to this, of course. There is the subliminal stewardship sermon (give money) that hardly even touches on the subject at all (give lots of money). A variation on this theme is the talk about anything but money. If I inspire people and speak in vague generalities about their “Christian duty,” financial gifts to the church will just come pouring in. This line of thinking usually presupposes that money is a dirty little subject not to be addressed from the pulpit. In some ways speaking about money really is the church’s last taboo. But I don’t buy that, so to speak. Money is an integral part of life. Jesus speaks more about money than any other single topic. The Church needs money, in addition to prayer, to support its mission in the world. And All Saints’ needs money to support its mission in this community.

We get a tough parable today, not the greatest on which to preach my very first stewardship sermon. But the parable of the wedding banquet is the culmination of three weeks of parables from Jesus, placed successively in the text of Matthew’s gospel. Two weeks ago we had the parable of the two sons. One refused to listen to his father, but later did. The other agreed to listen to his father, but didn’t. And Jesus related this to those who agreed to respond to John the Baptist’s message of repentance but did not. Last week we had the parable of the vineyard, further narrowing the focus to the primacy of Christ as the son who was sent by God and rejected by humanity. This week we get the wedding banquet, an allegory for the post-resurrection day-of-judgment. So we’ve progressed from John the Baptist to Christ to the end of time, which encompasses the whole sweep of salvation history as we, as Christians, understand it.

And it’s a good thing this is an allegorical wedding reception because it doesn’t sound like much fun. The father of the groom, the king, kills the guests who refuse to come, then drags in people off the street, and bounces the poor guy wearing the wrong set of clothes. I hope the band was good.

Let’s focus for a moment on the gentleman who was thrown out of the banquet hall for wearing inappropriate attire. This seems most unfair, even cruel. He didn’t wake up that day expecting to go to a fancy wedding banquet. He was probably just standing around minding his own business when he got ushered into the wedding hall. And who would expect the average person to walk around town wearing a tuxedo? So he’s unexpectedly invited in, allowed to stare at the feast, maybe he snags a crab ball or two, and then he gets thrown out. Nice host. But here’s where we have to remember there wasn’t really a wedding banquet. The point Jesus is making here is about accepting an invitation and doing nothing more than showing up. He’s talking about the invitation we have all been offered: the invitation to know God. The invitation to experience life in relationship with the risen Christ. The invitation to eternal life. When we RSVP, when we accept God’s offer of relationship we can’t just accept it and expect that we have no other responsibilities. We can’t just eat all of God’s food, enjoy God’s hospitality, and then simply go home.

But what about the guy who wasn’t dressed correctly? There’s something that still gets us about that. It just seems a bit harsh. It helps when we consider how Matthew’s community would have heard this. New clothes were symbols of conversion. At baptism, when new Christians were welcomed into the community, they were clothed in white robes. There was a belief that they were literally putting on a new life in Christ. The sinful identity of the old life was replaced with a new identity, the Christian life. They were born into a new life with Christ at the center. No longer could they just show up – they were expected to actively participate with Christ and their new community in this new life. The putting on of new clothes, like putting on a wedding robe in this parable, was a sign of life and faith and the response to an invitation from God to fully participate in the Christian life.

We live this invitation out in our life together at All Saints’. We pray together, we laugh together, we sing together, we struggle with our faith together, we share the body and blood of Christ together, and we do the best we can to live our lives as faithful Christians, together.

Not that I’m counting, but this is my seventh Sunday with you. (I look forward to the time when I have no idea how many Sundays it’s been. But for now I know). Sometimes it’s hard to see things when you’re in the midst of it all, but you should know that this is a special place. An amazing place. I continually marvel at the level of commitment I have seen to this church and for the love and concern that you have for one another. And I don’t say that lightly. It doesn’t exist everywhere. People at All Saints’ don’t just show up. They actively participate in the life of the parish. And that’s really what stewardship is all about. It’s about active and prayerful participation. Giving of ourselves and our financial resources is a significant part of this. It’s saying that you believe that the Christian life is more than just showing up. It’s about living a vibrant life of faith. I’ve said this before, but I am excited to be here, serving Christ with you. Making a financial commitment to Christ and to this church, one that stretches us and allows us to boldly proclaim in word and action that God is at the center of our lives, is itself a great gift from God. I look forward to the unfolding of this continuing journey together.

© The Rev. Tim Schenck 2002

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Proper 28, Year A 2005 (Stewardship)

A Sermon From All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Briarcliff Manor
Sermon preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck, Rector, on November 13, 2005. 
Based on Matthew 25:14-15, 19-29 (Proper 28, Year A).

Money. It’s a topic no one wants to hear about from the pulpit. It’s fine if Jesus talks about it, as he does in this morning’s gospel. We just don’t want our clergy to preach about it. Because when we start preaching about money, people get uncomfortable. We start to squirm a bit; maybe start coughing. The pews all of a sudden seem even more uncomfortable than they already are.

Episcopalians are particularly vulnerable to this. Money seems an unseemly topic to discuss from the pulpit. It’s so…undignified. And traditionally we like to talk about money about as much as we like to talk about evangelism. Which is not much. We even refer to our annual pledge campaign as our “stewardship program,” thereby avoiding any reference to money. The danger is that we can talk in lofty language about stewardship while forgetting that this is also about money. I’ve heard stewardship sermons that don’t even say the word. They may include beautifully articulated phrases about the theology of stewardship, but money becomes the giant elephant in the sanctuary. No one dares speak of it. And an opportunity to discuss a critical piece of our relationship with God in Christ is lost.

But I don’t think it’s the topic of money itself that turns us off. Indeed, money is generally one of our favorite topics. We like money, we want money and we enjoy spending money. So it’s not the topic itself that makes us uncomfortable. I think what really makes us squeamish is the topic of giving away our money. And that’s what I want to talk about this morning. (Is it getting hot in here?) 

I just glossed over the word stewardship, but I do think that it’s a critical context in which to look at our pledge program. Because this over-used word isn’t just a way to trick parishioners into talking about money. It’s not just a euphemism to soften the blow. The concept of stewardship is all-encompassing. It’s a recognition that all we are, and all that we have is a gift from God. And that faithful lives are based on the human response to this divine gift. So stewardship is the giving back to God of our selves through service and the sharing of our financial resources. God has made us stewards – caretakers – of this church, this world, and our relationship with one another. Money alone doesn’t fully define stewardship. But one of the ways we act as stewards is by giving money to our church. We can’t ignore this. And Jesus himself never skirted the issue.

This morning we get the parable of the talents. A talent was a sum of money. It has nothing to do with the traditional stewardship “trifecta” of time, talent, and treasure. In fact it was a large sum of money, equivalent to the amount a day laborer would have been paid for fifteen years of work. So rarely would the average person ever have been entrusted with one talent, let alone five. But that’s what happens. A master divides eight talents among three slaves. One gets five, another two, and a third get one. And then the master goes away for what we’re told is “a long time.” Upon his return, the master settles the accounts. The first doubles his return, making five more talents. The second also doubles his return, making two more. And the third returns the single talent he was given.

What’s curious in this parable about God’s kingdom, is the fate of the third slave. The one who buries his talent and then returns the single talent to the master upon his return. He doesn’t seem to do anything wrong. He didn’t lose the money or squander it. Yet his actions are condemned.

In the context of stewardship, this seems to be a warning to those who approach their relationship with money out of fear. Instead of joyfully using our resources, we often bury them. We become hoarders. And along with it we bury our faith; we bury our trust in God. It forces us to keep looking down, worrying about our buried treasure rather than looking up and glorifying Jesus. And many of us have adopted this posture in our relationship with our money. We’re pack rats, living in fear. Waiting for that rainy day that may or may not come. Fearful that if and when it does, God will not be able to provide.

Last month we had an amazing rummage sale. I’ve never seen so much stuff. Rummage was everywhere. This year, I’d like to challenge us all to give as freely of our money as we did of our rummage. It’s easy to give things away that we don’t want or need. We’ll do that by the truckload. Or at least the minivan-full. But what if you were asked to part with things you really cared about? What would you choose to give away? There is grief in giving something away you care deeply about. I’m not asking you to give until it hurts. But I am asking you to give until you at least notice it. We give rummage away out of our abundance. And our pledging habits often follow the same pattern. ‘Only after I have everything I could possibly want or need will I get down to the business of figuring our my pledge to All Saints.’ But unless pledging comes from your heart, unless it comes out of what really matters to you, it’s as easy as giving away the old sporting equipment wasting away in your garage. And Jesus deserves more than that.

Stewardship, like our faith lives, is not always easy. To fully realize our faith, our giving must be a primary part of our relationship with Jesus Christ, not merely a tangential one. Supporting the mission and ministry of All Saints’ as a central piece of your faith identity is crucial to your relationship with Jesus. I can’t be clearer on this. And it’s why I’m standing up here this morning asking you to give money to your parish. Even if it makes us all a bit uncomfortable.

 © The Rev. Tim Schenck 2005

Proper 27, Year B 2003 (Stewardship)

A Sermon From All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Briarcliff Manor
Sermon preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck, Rector, on November 9, 2003. 
Based on Mark 12:38-44 (Proper 27, Year B).

An usher passing a collection plate is a scary sight. The collection plate itself is harmless. Actually they’re often quite beautiful. But there’s something about the sight of an usher holding this plate that makes us nervous.  

It puts us on the spot. The moment the plate passes in front of us we’re forced to confront our values and our generosity in a very tangible way. So, it’s worthwhile to reflect upon what specifically goes through our minds as the collection plate passes. Sometimes it’s the horrifying realization that you’ve, once again, left the envelope on the kitchen counter. Sometimes, especially when you visit another church, it’s the realization that you’ve forgotten to bring your wallet. All you can do is smile awkwardly and shake your head as the plate passes by. Which wouldn’t be so bad except for the other people in your pew. What will they think? That you’re cheap? Or ungrateful? Or poor? Sometimes when the plate appears you reach confidently into your pocket only to come out with a tissue and a bent paperclip. And for a split second you consider sliding the tissue underneath the other envelopes, hoping no one will notice. Finally there’s the occasion when you realize that all you have is a single dollar bill. Which is good because at least you have something to put in the plate. But you can’t just toss it in without embarrassing yourself at your own cheapness. So you quickly fold it over to make it look like a big wad of cash and fling it into the plate with great bravado. Unfortunately it invariably unfolds and your great secret is exposed.

I would bet that at least one of these experiences resonates with you. Because when it comes to money, we so often focus on our selves and our own emotions. We are self-conscious and self-centered givers. Which is why we don’t always greet the collection plate with a sense of gratitude and joy, but rather with fear and a sense of burden. Our self worth is intrinsically connected with our net worth. And so giving money away is a painful process. We seem to be losing a piece of our identity. 

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Jesus points us in another direction, a direction that doesn’t negate the importance of financial resources but keeps them in their proper place.

Money is important. But the reason it’s important is in the way we use it. How we spend our resources says a lot about the priorities of our lives. Our checkbooks can be windows into our life’s values. But money itself is not our identity. Money is a part of us but it doesn’t ultimately represent who we are. Our true identity is in our relationship with God.

As we reflect upon our own attitudes toward money this morning, I can’t help but wonder what was going through the poor widow’s mind as she approached the temple treasury. Maybe she had peace and joy in her heart. Maybe she took great pleasure in giving away everything she had to live on. But I’d bet she was absolutely terrified. Imagine cashing out all of your assets and simply giving them away. I don’t care how much of a cheerful giver you are, it would be frightening to walk away from all the security you have ever known. And it’s not as if she could go out and start a business the next day. There weren’t any bootstraps available to impoverished widows in ancient Palestine. Her class were among the most marginalized and vulnerable members of society. There was no prospect for work. Begging would be the only means of survival. 

And make no mistake, by praising this woman’s faithfulness Jesus is not affirming poverty as an acceptable condition in which to live. Remember in the previous verses he’s condemning the religious elite who have put in place this system of financial tyranny. The temple treasury enforced taxes upon all Jews, not just the wealthy ones. This widow may have been freely offering her last two coins to God, but she also may not have had a choice. We don’t really know. But Jesus’ point for us is that sacrificial giving is the key to gaining entrance to God’s kingdom. That’s the ideal that he draws us to and that’s the ideal that he holds before us on this stewardship Sunday. We are challenged to give not merely out of our abundance but, like the poor widow, out of our poverty and fear as well.

Sacrificial giving isn’t about giving until it hurts. It’s about giving until the joy starts to come through. It’s about giving through the heart rather than the wallet. It’s about moving past our barriers of self-conscious giving towards a giving of true gratitude for mercies given.

I guess the church itself is partly to blame for our fear of money. Collection plates should really be more consistently called offering plates. Because that’s what they hold – our offerings to God and neighbor. The word ‘collection’ conjures up images of the tax collector. And while Jesus may have eaten with them, no one wants to come to church to pay taxes. It puts the usher in the role of the rector’s henchman. Rob them blind and then get on with the service. The word offering much better captures the essence of what’s going on here. 

So as you give prayerful consideration to your pledge this year, reflect upon the message of Jesus. Remember that Christ himself is the one true offering.  His sacrifice upon the cross is the ultimate in sacrificial giving. Through it an abundance of grace has been poured out for us all. And our own offering of time, talent, and treasure to the ministry of the church is a tangible way that we too can pour out the abundance of grace for ourselves and for others.

 © The Rev. Tim Schenck 2003

Proper 24, Year A 2011 (Stewardship)

A Sermon from the Episcopal Parish of 
St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Massachusetts
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on October 16, 2011 (Proper 24, Year A)

Every once in awhile I come up with the perfect response to a rude or hurtful comment. Someone says something obnoxious and I come back with a real zinger that puts them right in their place. Unfortunately, my brilliant response occurs to me about two hours too late or in the middle of the night. And that is so maddening!

Jesus doesn’t have this problem when responding to the Pharisees in this morning’s gospel. They’re trying to trick him into saying something that will either discredit him or get him into trouble in order to rid themselves of this pesky threat to their own authority. And they start with some serious flattery: “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality.” Oh, please. We know, and Jesus knew, that they were just trying to sugarcoat their real motive which, as Matthew tells us, was to “entrap Jesus in what he said.” 

And it’s a clever ploy. They ask him point blank, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” If Jesus answers “yes” he’s breaking Jewish law since the coin contains the idolatrous image of Caesar with an inscription about the emperor’s divinity. If he answers “no” he is libel to be turned in as a traitor to the state. It appears they have caught Jesus in a verbal check mate – whichever way he answers he’ll either be discredited among his followers or brought up on charges of treason. 

But, they’re messing with the wrong guy here. Jesus once again demonstrates that he’s playing an entirely different game. Thus his response: “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.” That’s the King James Version which I think is even more poignant. And it’s one of the best responses ever. It flips the entire equation upside down and offers a fresh perspective on the relationship between God and humanity. It’s no wonder that after Jesus spoke, these same Pharisees “were amazed and they left him and went away.” 

But all of this is about more than a quick turn of a phrase. And it’s about more than the cultural context of paying taxes in Ancient Palestine. It’s about the placement of ultimate loyalties. When we worship God we offer ourselves wholly to God. We offer our “selves, our souls and bodies” to the one, true and living God as made manifest in Jesus Christ. The text isn’t meant to offer a clear distinction in our lives about what to offer to God and what to give to secular society – in reality there is no such thing as a separate “secular world” since it is all created by God; it is all sacred. But Jesus’ point is that as long as our ultimate loyalty is with God, everything else will find its appropriate place.

As long as we’re on the topic of money I want to say a few words about the upcoming stewardship campaign at St. John’s (and, yes, that was a very smooth segue). In about a week and a half you’ll be receiving a mailing with information about pledging at St. John’s. We have a lot of ministry going on around here, several major initiatives starting this fall, and it takes money to fuel all of this ministry. I realize that talking about money makes some of us uncomfortable. And I realize that talking about money in church ratchets up the anxiety level even further. Keep in mind, however, that Jesus, the master of drawing people out of their comfort zones, talked about money more than any other single topic. Of his 42 parables a whopping 16 focus on our right relationship with money. So it’s not a topic we can afford to avoid.

This morning’s gospel is yet another example of this. And Jesus’ point is never that money in and of itself is a bad thing or that’s it’s something to sweep under the rug or to keep in the realm of taboo subjects. Jesus is well aware that money is an integral part of the human existence and that our relationship with money often defines our actions and deeply impacts our spiritual choices. A healthy relationship with money can transform our relationship with God. Jesus invites us into a place of generosity while driving out the fear that so often defines our relationship with money. 

One of the reasons we all gather here week after week is to be a community of transformation. We come to hear God’s word, share the Eucharist, be in communion with God and one another. But we don’t just do this to stay the same. We do this to be drawn ever deeper into relationship with God and to be transformed into people of gratitude. A parish community at its best creates a culture of gratitude – where we give thanks each and every day for the abundance we have been given – even as we live in a culture defined by scarcity and greed. 

It should come as no surprise to hear me say that the bedrock of our prevailing culture is fear – scarcity and greed are mere symptoms of fear. The United States is the wealthiest nation in world and yet so many of us live in fear of getting hurt or running out of money or dying. We spend a lot of time and money to avoid thinking about such things. The reality, whether we admit it or not, is that we will all get hurt at some point and we will all die. No amount of money can protect us from this underlying fact of life. Some people are very wealthy yet miserable while some of the happiest people I know are the most generous – regardless of their financial position. The Gospel teaches us that we don’t have to be afraid. Jesus’ message drives out fear and creates for us a vision of abundance that brings us freedom through generosity. Being generous helps us to release the death grip of fear that makes us cling tightly to our wallets while at the same time unshackling our hearts. It feels good to give; the freedom gained through giving is transformative. And I will continue to encourage you to experience the joy of giving with reckless abandon.

Some of you know from my blog that there are now two ferrets living at the rectory. I have no idea how this happened except that the boys met a couple of them at a friend’s house, they spent a week begging and logging onto ferret adoption websites, and when I next woke up we had two ferrets named Mimi and Casper living in a giant cage in the family room. Now, they are very cute – I’ll give them that – and they’re a lot of fun to interact with. But as I’ve read up on ferrets – and learned that, no, they aren’t rodents but mammals – I’ve observed some hoarding behavior. They like to stash things away whether it’s food or socks or keys. And as I’ve thought about our relationship to money in this context, one thing has become clear. It’s hard to be in a fruitful relationship with God when we act like hoarders. Money is ultimately a gift to be shared rather than a resource to hoard. So I never thought I’d actually say this from the pulpit, but don’t approach stewardship like a ferret. Be generous rather than hiding all your money under your mattress. It feels good and it furthers the very kingdom of God.

© The Rev. Tim Schenck 2011

Proper 24, Year A 2008 (Stewardship)

A Sermon from All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Briarcliff Manor, New York
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck, Rector on October 19, 2008 (Proper 24A)

I have a confession to make: I like grits. I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way. I went down to Canton, Mississippi for a clergy conference last week without any intention of even trying them. But a New Yorker in Mississippi kind of sticks out. So under the aegis of “when in Rome” I tried them. And, like Sam I Am, I liked them. I really did. And while I might not eat them with a fox or in a box or in a house or with a mouse, I will definitely eat them in the Deep South.

But the breakfast experience transcended the southern culinary delights. It was one thing to sit around with a bunch of grit-eating Episcopal priests. Toss in a few newspapers marking the collapse of the financial markets and you could feel the tension rising. We needed as much “comfort food” as we could take. Because what was at the heart of this anxiety was something we would all face upon our return: the annual stewardship campaign.  

And so this morning I’m going to talk about money. Usually when a preacher starts talking about finances, you can feel the tension rising. It may be happening right now. People’s defenses go up, sometimes the body language changes, ladies clutch their purses, men shift their weight to sit directly on top of their wallets. And it’s probably even more acute in light of the news out of Wall Street. 

There’s an old joke that goes like this: A preacher was talking to a parishioner and he said, “Johnny if you had a million dollars, would you give half to the Lord?” And Johnny said, “Oh, preacher, you know I would. If I had a million dollars, I’d give half to the Lord.” And then the preacher asked him, “Johnny, if you had two houses, would you give one of them to the Lord.” And Johnny said, “Yes, preacher, you know that if I had two houses, I’d give one of them to the Lord.” Finally, the preacher asked him, “Johnny, if you had two cows would you give one of them to the Lord?” And Johnny replied, “Now wait a minute, preacher, you know that’s not fair; I have two cows.” 

An amusing story but one that hits awfully close to home. Because when it comes to our financial stewardship of the church, how much of what we give is out of our disposable income? And, as I’ve said in years past, what does that say about our faith? As you pray about your 2009 financial pledge to All Saints’, know that I’m not asking you to give until it hurts. But I am asking you to give until you at least notice it.

The tension at those grit inspired breakfasts in Mississippi was a perfectly human response. It was an expression of fear: fear of the unknown, fear of an unbalanced budget, fear for the institutions we serve. Clergy are certainly not immune to the “fear factor.” But hopefully when all of us scratch the surface a bit, that initial response gives way to an abiding trust in God.

So while this is a difficult time to talk about giving away our financial resources, I also think that there could be no better time to talk about financial stewardship. The faith-based response to fear is trust. And trust means giving our fear to God, placing our anxiety at the foot of Jesus, handing over the idea that we are the masters of our own domain. In an economic crisis, the question is even more striking: do you really trust God? Or does fear make you move ever more inward and cling to the things you know.

Sure, I’m anxious about this year’s budget. If we don’t bring in enough money in pledges, we won’t be able to fund the ministry that we are called to do. Maintenance will get deferred, outreach grants will be cut, and programs will be scaled back. And when that disconnect happens, when there’s a gap between God’s call and our action, the deficit becomes more than budgetary. We start to operate at a spiritual deficit. And that is cause for fear. 

I once got a call from a worried bride who, after looking at the draft of the wedding bulletin, wanted me to take out “the offertory.” She thought we would be taking up a collection during the ceremony. And while that might not be a bad idea, especially in tough economic times, the offertory is not just about money. I explained that the offertory is the time during the liturgy when the altar is prepared for communion; when the bread and the wine are presented at God’s altar; when our hearts are made ready to receive Christ anew – our offerings transcend the financial realm. And that’s an important distinction. 

Our stewardship theme this year is “Equipping the Saints…Kindling the Spirit.” But the stewardship of our time and talent and treasure is larger than a few weeks in the fall. Which is why we’ve been planning opportunities to deepen our faith throughout the year. This started in the fall and will continue into the spring. So you’ll see that theme not just over the next couple of weeks but all year as a reminder that stewardship is ultimately a way of life. Today I concentrate on financial stewardship but only in the greater context of our entire relationship with God.

And, of course, within the context of the gospel. Which just happens to have money at its center; specifically a Roman coin. And reading it this week made me wonder if you’ve ever had one of those confrontational encounters where you think of the perfect response about two hours too late? I can come up with a real zinger in the middle of the night. I often have a brilliant response, after the fact. Jesus doesn’t have this problem when responding to the Pharisees in this morning’s gospel. “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.” That’s the King James Version which I think is even more poignant. And it’s one of the best responses ever. Just look at the reaction of the Pharisees who we hear “went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said.” They messed with the wrong guy here. And Matthew tells us that after Jesus spoke these same Pharisees “were amazed and they left him and went away.”

But this is about more than a quick turn of a phrase. And it’s about more than just the cultural context of paying taxes. It’s about the placement of ultimate loyalties. When we worship God we offer ourselves wholly to God. We offer our “selves, our souls and bodies” to the one, true and living God as made manifest in Jesus Christ. The text isn’t meant to offer a clear distinction in our lives about what to offer to God and what to give to secular society. We live in a complex world of competing demands and conflicting loyalties. Scripture doesn’t give hard and fast rules for every situation; as nice as that would be. But Jesus’ point is that as long as our ultimate loyalty is with God, everything else will find its appropriate place.

And financial giving plays an important role here. We will all undoubtedly need to amend our spending habits in the coming months and perhaps years. But what an opportunity to say “no” to fear by not merely maintaining your pledge but raising it. I encourage you to make a statement that fear will not overwhelm you and affirm your ultimate loyalty to God. Not just for the church; but for your own spiritual health and well-being.

© The Rev. Tim Schenck 2008

Proper 23, Year A 2002 (Stewardship)

A Sermon From All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Briarcliff Manor
Sermon preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck, Rector, on October 13, 2002. 
Based on Matthew 22:1-14 (Proper 23, Year A).

 October means different things to different people. To some it means leaves changing colors, to others the free-candy fest that is Halloween, and to others it means looking forward to that glorious weekend when we gain an hour for daylight savings. For Episcopalians, however, October means coming to church and hearing the obligatory stewardship sermon. 

There are many approaches to this, of course. There is the subliminal stewardship sermon (give money) that hardly even touches on the subject at all (give lots of money). A variation on this theme is the talk about anything but money. If I inspire people and speak in vague generalities about their “Christian duty,” financial gifts to the church will just come pouring in. This line of thinking usually presupposes that money is a dirty little subject not to be addressed from the pulpit. In some ways speaking about money really is the church’s last taboo. But I don’t buy that, so to speak. Money is an integral part of life. Jesus speaks more about money than any other single topic. The Church needs money, in addition to prayer, to support its mission in the world. And All Saints’ needs money to support its mission in this community. 

We get a tough parable today, not the greatest on which to preach my very first stewardship sermon. But the parable of the wedding banquet is the culmination of three weeks of parables from Jesus, placed successively in the text of Matthew’s gospel. Two weeks ago we had the parable of the two sons. One refused to listen to his father, but later did. The other agreed to listen to his father, but didn’t. And Jesus related this to those who agreed to respond to John the Baptist’s message of repentance but did not. Last week we had the parable of the vineyard, further narrowing the focus to the primacy of Christ as the son who was sent by God and rejected by humanity. This week we get the wedding banquet, an allegory for the post-resurrection day-of-judgment. So we’ve progressed from John the Baptist to Christ to the end of time, which encompasses the whole sweep of salvation history as we, as Christians, understand it.

And it’s a good thing this is an allegorical wedding reception because it doesn’t sound like much fun. The father of the groom, the king, kills the guests who refuse to come, then drags in people off the street, and bounces the poor guy wearing the wrong set of clothes. I hope the band was good. 

Let’s focus for a moment on the gentleman who was thrown out of the banquet hall for wearing inappropriate attire. This seems most unfair, even cruel. He didn’t wake up that day expecting to go to a fancy wedding banquet. He was probably just standing around minding his own business when he got ushered into the wedding hall. And who would expect the average person to walk around town wearing a tuxedo? So he’s unexpectedly invited in, allowed to stare at the feast, maybe he snags a crab ball or two, and then he gets thrown out. Nice host. But here’s where we have to remember there wasn’t really a wedding banquet. The point Jesus is making here is about accepting an invitation and doing nothing more than showing up. He’s talking about the invitation we have all been offered: the invitation to know God. The invitation to experience life in relationship with the risen Christ. The invitation to eternal life. When we RSVP, when we accept God’s offer of relationship we can’t just accept it and expect that we have no other responsibilities. We can’t just eat all of God’s food, enjoy God’s hospitality, and then simply go home. 

But what about the guy who wasn’t dressed correctly? There’s something that still gets us about that. It just seems a bit harsh. It helps when we consider how Matthew’s community would have heard this. New clothes were symbols of conversion. At baptism, when new Christians were welcomed into the community, they were clothed in white robes. There was a belief that they were literally putting on a new life in Christ. The sinful identity of the old life was replaced with a new identity, the Christian life. They were born into a new life with Christ at the center. No longer could they just show up – they were expected to actively participate with Christ and their new community in this new life. The putting on of new clothes, like putting on a wedding robe in this parable, was a sign of life and faith and the response to an invitation from God to fully participate in the Christian life.

We live this invitation out in our life together at All Saints’. We pray together, we laugh together, we sing together, we struggle with our faith together, we share the body and blood of Christ together, and we do the best we can to live our lives as faithful Christians, together. 

Not that I’m counting, but this is my seventh Sunday with you. (I look forward to the time when I have no idea how many Sundays it’s been. But for now I know). Sometimes it’s hard to see things when you’re in the midst of it all, but you should know that this is a special place. An amazing place. I continually marvel at the level of commitment I have seen to this church and for the love and concern that you have for one another. And I don’t say that lightly. It doesn’t exist everywhere. People at All Saints’ don’t just show up. They actively participate in the life of the parish. And that’s really what stewardship is all about. It’s about active and prayerful participation. Giving of ourselves and our financial resources is a significant part of this. It’s saying that you believe that the Christian life is more than just showing up. It’s about living a vibrant life of faith. I’ve said this before, but I am excited to be here, serving Christ with you. Making a financial commitment to Christ and to this church, one that stretches us and allows us to boldly proclaim in word and action that God is at the center of our lives, is itself a great gift from God. I look forward to the unfolding of this continuing journey together.

© The Rev. Tim Schenck 2002

Proper 24, Year B (Stewardship)

A Sermon from the Episcopal Parish of 
St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Massachusetts
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on October 18, 2009 (Proper 24, Year B) 

October means different things to different people. To some it means crisp fall days bursting with the colors of fall foliage; to others it means ghosts, goblins, and free candy. For Episcopalians, however, October means coming to church and hearing the obligatory stewardship sermon. Welcome to October.

There are many approaches to this, of course. There is the subliminal stewardship sermon (give money) that hardly even touches on the subject at all (give lots of money). A variation on this theme is the talk about anything but money. “If I inspire people and speak in vague generalities about their ‘Christian duty,’ financial gifts to the church will just come pouring in.” This line of thinking presupposes that money is a dirty little subject not to be addressed from the pulpit. Some feel it’s unseemly for their priest to talk about money; that it breaches the great divide between the spiritual and the temporal; that money is a private matter not for public consumption. Something you might talk about with your banker but never your parish priest.

But I just don’t buy that, so to speak. Because money is an integral part of life. Jesus speaks about money more than any other single topic. He speaks of its dual nature – its tremendous potential to do good but also the temptation to turn money into a false god. And the way we approach money can be either life-giving or life-enslaving. I believe that money is one of God’s greatest gifts. And thus it is not something to be ashamed of or embarrassed to talk about. Money plays an important role in our lives whether or not we speak about it publicly. And to pretend otherwise is an inauthentic approach to the life of faith.

And yet how many of you truly express joy when the collection plate passes through your pew. Do you feel grateful for the opportunity to share your resources or do you feel defensive and obligated to put something into the plate. Giving should be a joyful act; one that feels good. But it takes awhile to get to that point because it’s not easy. In order to get to a place of joyful giving we must endure a small death. Our own fear must die in order to gain the freedom of becoming a cheerful giver.

And fear is powerful; it’s what keeps us from living generous lives. It’s driven by the notion that ‘if I give you something, that’s less for me; I’m more at risk of whatever might happen tomorrow.’ It is fear that makes us grip our purses a bit tighter when the preacher starts talking about money; it is fear that keeps us pledging the same amount since 1985; it is fear that keeps us from even making a pledge in the first place. Fear of the unknown, fear of the future, fear that God will not provide, fear that you may not always be able to sustain the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed. And the hallmarks of fear are self-evident: A life of fear is characterized by separation, isolation, competitiveness, conflict, hostility, violence, anxiety, depression, and a desire to control ourselves, one another, our resources, and our relationships. In other words, not the abundant life into which God calls us.

Yes, the Church needs money, in addition to prayer and action, to support its mission in this community and in the world. But we also have a spiritual need to give; a need to overcome the fear that prevents us from living a life of love. That’s the opposite of fear. Because love, as modeled by Jesus Christ, gives life. It wipes away the fear that enslaves us. A life of love is relational, life-giving, joyful, beautiful, harmonious, and peaceful. In other words, the opposite of a life driven by fear.

In this morning’s gospel James and John make a request to Jesus: in the kingdom of heaven they wish to be seated at Jesus’ left and right. They want the places of honor. They’re sucking up to Jesus so they can snag the best seats at the heavenly banquet. And in this respect they are living a life of fear; a life of competition and rivalry with the other disciples. In this model of scarcity they believe that not only will there be limited seating in heaven but that they will need to climb over others to get there. Just as it is for us, their fear will need to die before they’re ready to enter the kingdom. And Jesus assures them that it will.

National Public Radio just concluded its fall fund drive. And I admit that whenever the hosts natter on about challenge grants and doing the right thing, I simply change the channel to wait it out. As someone who sets his clock radio to NPR, it’s tough to wake up to someone begging for money before you’ve even had your first cup of coffee. But fortunately for me, you can’t just hit the snooze button and wake up for the Nicene Creed. For better or worse you’re a captive audience and you can’t turn me off mid-sentence. Giving money to the church is not just a nice thing to do; it’s not a luxury item; it’s not frivolous spending. And if all of your giving is done exclusively out of your disposable income, what does that say about your faith? I’m not asking you to give until it hurts but I am asking you to give until you at least notice it.

When it comes to money, Jesus challenges us. He demands to know, “Where is your heart?” Because how and where we spend our money does define us. It impacts how we live our lives. In this sense, our checkbooks are windows into our souls. Charitable giving, whether it’s to the church or elsewhere, must be part of our personal budgets. For Christians it is a necessary expense, as much as clothes or shelter. It is what we are called to do. And so this time of year it’s important to examine your charitable giving in relation to your other expenses. How does your giving to the church compare with your personal entertainment budget? How does it compare with your vacation budget? Do you spend more on electronic gadgetry in a given year than you pledge to St. John’s? I’m not saying it’s wrong; I’m just encouraging you to take a hard and prayerful look at your personal finances and reflect upon what they say about your spiritual priorities. How do you feel about the person your checkbook makes you out to be?

Not that I’m counting, but this is my ninth Sunday with you. (I look forward to the time when I have no idea how many Sundays it’s been. But for now I know). Sometimes it’s hard to see things when you’re in the midst of it all, but you should know that this is truly a special place. An amazing place. A place in which I am delighted to serve. I’ve been having a great time, my family is settling in beautifully, and I look forward to many fruitful years among you. The vision is simple: to deepen our relationships with God and one another and to draw others into the love of Christ through this community. Turning the vision into reality in creative and exciting and vibrant and life-giving ways will take prayer, action, and money. More specifically, your prayer, your action, and your money. And I bid you to be generous with all three.

 © The Rev. Tim Schenck 2010

Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 24, Year C)

A Sermon from the Episcopal Parish of 
St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Massachusetts
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on October 17, 2010 (Proper 24, Year C)

It truly was compelling. Many of us were glued to our televisions this week as the story of the Chilean miners quite literally came to light. It was a dramatic and successful rescue in a situation that seemed devoid of hope when it was first reported. The odds were not good for the 33 men buried half a mile below the earth’s surface. Yet through modern engineering and old-fashioned prayer these miners were given new life. Images of resurrection and new birth were difficult for even the most hardened cynic to disavow. My only regret was that this all didn’t take place in the early spring because it would have made one heck of an illustration for my Easter sermon. 

I also loved the fact that friends, family, and loved ones all gathered at what they started calling Camp Hope. A desolate piece of land became a place of prayer and waiting and anticipation and ultimately reunion. Setting aside the larger issue of conditions at gold, copper, diamond, and coal mines throughout the world, this was a story of hope in the midst of despair; of victory in the face of defeat; of life snatched out of the clutches of certain death. In other words, a resounding echo of the Gospel of Christ. 

I like to think of St. John’s as a sort of Camp Hope. A place where the Good News of the gospel is shared; a place where we are formed in the Spirit and sent back out into the world to do God’s work; a place where the values of compassion and love and generosity are honed and lived out; a place where life’s meaning and the importance of faith comes into focus; a place where we live out this particular leg of our respective journeys of life and faith. All of which is why I so value this community and encourage you to be generously supportive of it both spiritually and financially. 

Yes, this is the rector’s annual stewardship sermon and at this time I would ask the ushers to please lock the doors. I actually must admit that I love preaching about money. Partly because it was Jesus’ favorite topic – 2/3 of his parables relate to money in some way. But mostly because it makes us all a bit uncomfortable. The mere mention of money from the pulpit causes women to pull their purses a bit closer and men to shift their weight to make sure their wallets are secured beneath them. And, of course, I’m not going to speak generically about money; I’m going to talk about your money. 

Now, some people feel that it’s unseemly for their priest to talk about finances; that it breaches the great divide between the spiritual and the temporal; that money is a private matter not for public consumption. Something you might talk about with your banker but never your parish priest. But I just don’t buy that, so to speak, because money is an integral part of life; not a dirty little secret. When Jesus talks about money he speaks of its dual nature – the temptation to turn money into a false god but also its tremendous potential to do good. And the way we approach money can be either life-enslaving or life-giving. The reality is that money plays an important role in our lives whether or not we speak about it publicly and to pretend otherwise is an inauthentic approach to the life of faith. 

I can’t say I’ve ever preached a stewardship sermon based on these lessons. Usually it coincides with the widow’s mite or the passage about storing up treasure in heaven. But this morning we get Jacob wrestling with an angel and Jesus telling a parable about the unjust judge. And in particular I find something quite appropriate about hearing this story about Jacob. The encounter brings a mysterious divine being into human form to wrestle with Jacob. It’s one of the more intriguing and commented upon and interpreted stories in all of Scripture. Wrestling suggests both intimacy and struggle – certainly evocative of our relationship with money. 

The context behind the story is fear. You’ll recall that Jacob had stolen his brother Esau’s birthright by disguising himself to receive his father Isaac’s blessing. Now Jacob hears that Esau is coming to meet him with 400 men in tow. You’d better believe Jacob’s a nervous wreck when he hears this. He’s terrified that Esau is coming to exact his revenge so he sends his family across the river to safety and prepares to meet his brother alone. So Jacob begins the evening in the same state we often approach money: in fear. We’re fearful that we won’t have enough money and we don’t trust God enough to provide for our needs.

When we speak of stewardship in the church we talk about the importance of giving our time, talent, and treasure. So there are many ways of giving that transcend the financial. But this morning, as you know, I am focusing on the financial side of stewardship; the sharing of our monetary resources. And I’m excited to do so because I believe passionately in what is happening here at St. John’s; I’m convinced that the Spirit is moving and drawing us into new things and new ministries and new ways of being together. 

And opportunities abound. As of August we have a new curate (thanks be to God) and we need to fund this position for a full year in 2011. I would like to see a third service added – probably a Saturday evening liturgy – and that will take additional resources. We are engaged in a website redesign that will both serve as the first impression for newcomers and allow us to interact with one another and engage in our respective ministries in more effective ways. With Mother Anne’s leadership we continue to build the youth ministry at St. John’s, this year adding a Senior Youth Group to go with the existing youth group for 7^th and 8^th graders. It seems that we are adding ministries and programs on a weekly basis. Of course we are also committed to continuing what we do best: offering inspiring liturgy and music in the Anglican tradition to the glory of God. Worship in the beauty of holiness remains at the heart of who we are and what we do.

And all of this takes money. Ministry doesn’t happen magically; programs don’t appear out of thin air; staff members don’t work for free; buildings don’t heal themselves. So what am I asking you to do? I’ll be very clear because when it comes to financial need I have no patience for euphemism or beating around the burning bush. We need everyone to pledge to St. John’s. If you believe in what is happening here and are in a position to increase your pledge, I encourage you to do so. If you have never before pledged or if it is not part of your previous faith experience, I encourage you to do so. Partly because the church needs money and partly because we all have a need to give. Generosity is a value we need to model and not simply talk about. And, frankly, it feels good. 

You’ll recall that the story of Jacob wrestling the angel ends with a blessing. After a long night of struggle, Jacob bids the angel to offer him a blessing as daybreak approaches. And as you wrestle with your own life’s priorities and your financial commitment to this particular community of faith, I do know that a blessing will come of any honest and prayerful struggle over the question of how much to pledge. With generous hearts there is no telling what new and exciting ministries might be unleashed around here. And I am continually reminded that “God’s power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.”

 © The Rev. Tim Schenck 2010

Proper 28, Year C (Stewardship)

A Sermon From All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Briarcliff Manor
Sermon preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck, Rector, on November 18, 2007. 
Based on Malachi 3:13 -4:2a, 5-6 (Proper 28, Year C).

Welcome to Stewardship Sunday. That traditional time of year when the church asks you to fork over your money. Or at least pledge to do so. Stewardship is, of course, about much more than just money; it’s about living out our relationship with God in the context of community. And so it can never be limited to a single Sunday in the church year. But the annual stewardship sermon often makes people uncomfortable. And it works both ways. Some priests cringe at the thought of asking for money. Either they feel “begging” is beneath them or they feel that mixing the temporal and the spiritual is somehow unseemly. And on the other side, few people appreciate being asked to part with their money, no matter how worthy the cause. Giving is viewed as a private matter, something the church should stay out of.

I disagree. I see money and our relationship with it as an integral piece of our spiritual well-being. Jesus spoke about money more than any other single topic. And I think he did so because he knew its potential to both tempt and transform. Financial resources are gifts from God not to be hoarded but to be shared. When we hold tightly to each dollar bill with a death grip, it highlights our reliance upon money rather than God. Money itself, rather than God, becomes the object of our worship. And when it becomes a matter of “In money we trust” rather than “In God we trust” we end up in spiritual trouble. But when we share it, blessings return to us in amazing ways. We can impact people beyond ourselves, which is at the heart of what Jesus Christ calls us to do. So this morning I’m hoping we can suspend our natural inclinations about money and be open to the transformation that takes place when we open our hearts and minds and, yes, our wallets. 
 
I admit I thought about changing the lessons this morning so I could preach on a passage that better lent itself to stewardship. Like the story of the widow’s mite; you know the one where the old, impoverished woman is praised by Jesus for dropping two small coins into the collection plate. Or something that incorporates the phrase, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” That would have been the easy way out. But after reading this morning’s appointed lesson from the prophet Malachi, I thought he really does have something to say to us about stewardship even if it’s not the usual fare. In this passage, God sheds light on the people’s view that “It is vain to serve God. What do we profit to keep his command?” So people have been struggling with this issue for thousands of years. Is it vain to serve God? For us it leads to the question, why go to church? Why waste your time on something you can’t quantify? It’s a particularly compelling question in an area where people increasingly don’t go to church; and if they do, attendance is often sporadic at best. And the question further resonates in an era where avowed atheists are best-selling authors and pick-and-choose new-age spirituality continues to be all the rage.

Let’s face it, there are all sorts of other things you could be doing on a Sunday morning. Like sleeping in or raking leaves or eating pancakes at The Patio. There are all sorts of other things your friends are doing. Lounging around in their fleece bathrobes, watching cartoons, getting ready to head out to the soccer field or the gym. But here you are saying some prayers, singing some hymns, and listening to the preacher drone on and on. Sure there’s Coffee Hour to look forward to. If you eat enough, you can probably skip lunch. But, still, why go to church?
 
One of the best descriptions I’ve heard of prayer is “wasting time with God.” Perhaps that’s a helpful perspective. Going to church may feed the soul but it’s not “productive” – we’re not making spiritual widgets when we gather on Sunday mornings. So, what’s your motivation? It might be guilt. Or it might be to avoid a weekly argument with your spouse. On one level I go to church every Sunday because I get paid to be here. But I also come every week because this is what I was baptized into. And that should be reason enough for all of us. We come to stay rooted in and connected to God. We’re not here to be entertained or dazzled. We’re here because we are in relationship with the living Christ and much of any relationship is simply being present. Sometimes it’s inspiring, sometimes it’s sustaining, sometimes it feels like drudgery. But we come because it’s what Christians do. We gather to worship in this weekly celebration; we receive communion as way of renewing our baptismal commitment to God on a regular basis.
 
Last night we held our Stone Soup Stewardship Supper in the Parish Hall. And I think the parable of Stone Soup is a wonderful example of “why go to church” and of what makes it a vibrant celebration of God’s love. It takes an entire community of faith to pull off a worship service, especially in the Anglican tradition. Without the altar guild, there would be no bread or wine, no communion vessels, no flowers, no candles. Without the organist and choir there would be no music. Without the lectors God’s Word would not be proclaimed. Without acolytes the candles wouldn’t be lit and the dignity of the service would be compromised. Without ushers there would be no collection taken – and eventually there would be no money to keep the lights on. And there’d be chaos at communion. Without chalice bearers no one would receive wine. Without parishioners, I couldn’t celebrate the eucharist. A priest cannot do communion by himself.
 
Now we could still hold services without many of these participants. It would be quieter; you’d hear more of my voice. But it wouldn’t be the true celebration of the Lord’s Day that God intended. When we come to church we are enriched, but so is the entire body of Christ that is the church. When we don’t come to church on a given Sunday, the body isn’t whole. And so when you don’t come on a Sunday morning you’re diminishing the celebration of your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Stone Soup is about the fullness of community, as everyone realizes their individual gifts mean so much more when they’re shared with their neighbors. In a church, this fullness of community is the very presence of God.
 
The “stones” we put into the pot that is All Saints’ come in variety of forms. Our giftedness, our time, our prayers, our presence. This morning we highlight those financial stones upon which we rely to continue to build up this church. I bid you to be generous. Give to this place with abandon, and in so doing make this meal, this banquet of soup that is All Saints’, the very best it has ever been.

© The Rev. Tim Schenck 2007

Proper 24, Year B (Stewardship)

A Sermon from the Episcopal Parish of 
St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Massachusetts
Preached by the Rev. Tim Schenck on October 21, 2012 (Proper 24, Year B)

Some priests cringe at having to talk about money from the pulpit. Some parishioners cringe at having to hear about money from the pulpit. This morning the potential cringe factor is off the charts!

There’s only one problem: I love talking about money. Well, specifically your money. But for too long money has been a taboo subject in churches. After all, it’s nothing genteel people talk about in public. Sure, the ushers pass the collection plates every week but even that’s pretty discreet — they have velvet lining so that nickel you toss in doesn’t make an embarrassingly loud clanging noise. But money should only be mentioned in hushed tones or in vague generalities.

Well, I don’t play that game. I love to talk about money because I see it as a gift from God. When used to build up rather than to tear down it has the potential to do tremendous good in the world. And so when I talk about money it’s not as a dirty little secret but as a resource that can build community and positively impact the lives of those around us. Of course it’s easy to talk about money when you’re passionate about the community you’re serving and believe that cultivating generosity is a spiritual virtue. Never mind that Jesus spoke about the right use of money more than any other single topic.

Oh, did I mention this is Stewardship Sunday here at St. John’s? Now, you’ll notice it doesn’t say “Stewardship Sunday” across the top of your bulletin. I never advertise it in advance since there’d be no better way to insure a decrease in Sunday morning attendance. But it’s also because every Sunday should be Stewardship Sunday. Every Sunday we should reflect on how grateful we are for all that we have, for this community of faith, and for our relationship with the God who loves us without condition or prerequisite.

If you’re not familiar with the concept of church stewardship, it’s not that I’m a liturgical pick pocket. We ask people to make a financial commitment to St. John’s in the same way we ask people to make a spiritual commitment to the parish. The thing about St. John’s that not everyone realizes is that the ministry, programs, staff, and the building aren’t funded by magic. There’s no massive endowment; we don’t receive money from the diocese or the Vatican for that matter. In fact we pay out an apportionment to help keep things running smoothly down at 138 Tremont Street and we heard last week from Bishop Shaw how that money is making a significant difference all over the world.

But I think it’s a good thing that we rely on one another to run this church because we all need to invest in this community; we’re all responsible for the yearly operating budget. So I’m asking you to pledge rather than just toss a few shekels into the plate on the Sundays you’re here. We pledge so that we can plan. We pledge so that we can dream. We pledge so that we can grow into the parish that God has called us to be. St. John’s is not someone else it is you and me; this is our community; this is the place we connect with God and one another. And what a great place this is!

But pledging isn’t just for the church; pledging is also for you. Because by making a pledge to St. John’s for the coming year you are driving a stake into the ground and saying “Yes, I believe that there is more to life than what appears on the surface. That there is a divine force out there greater than what we see. That community matters; specifically this particular community of faith.”

In this gospel passage Jesus reminds us that there is a better way. That we don’t need to live our lives with a hyper-competitive attitude toward those around us. Being a part of a faith community is a way of keeping everything in perspective. When you’re rooted in God, the busyness and the ups and downs we all encounter become less consuming. Because at the heart of it all, you recognize that Jesus Christ is traveling this journey right alongside you. That even in the midst of tragedy or despair he is there — weeping with you and providing comfort to you; and in the beautiful moments he is there — rejoicing and celebrating with you.

Now there’s a practical side to all of this — it takes money to run any institution. Costs are rising for churches just as they are for households and businesses. Everything from energy to phone systems to qualified staff right down to the cost of communion wine. One of the cardinal rules of entertaining is never run out of wine — I’m pretty sure the same principle applies around an altar.

Let’s face it, we all have many choices about what to do with our money. The number of good causes out there is mind boggling — I seem to get at least a few solicitations a week and that’s only going to crank up more and more as we get into the holiday season. But remember the church isn’t just another charitable organization. It’s a community; more specifically it’s your community. It’s a place where you come to be fed; a tangible place that can serve as a spiritual weigh station during difficult times; a place that gives you the hope and courage and strength and solace to make it through another week as your best self. A place to be inspired; a place to serve God; a place to be with others of like-minded values who help us return again and again to the priorities of faith and the message of Jesus Christ.

In this context I think it’s helpful to think about what St. John’s means to you; to reflect upon what it is that brings you back week after week. What I’m really asking here is, what do you love about St. John’s? I’ve been thinking about this question a lot recently. And I bet that, while many common themes would emerge, we’d all have different answers. And if we collected all these answers, together they would knit a colorful and broad tapestry of life here at the corner of Main and Water Streets in Hingham, Massachusetts.

I personally love a lot of things about this place. I love standing at the altar on a Sunday morning and watching all the kids come in from Church School; I love the fact that you put up with my sense of humor; I love the way heavy rain sounds on the the slate roof; I love that my family is happy here; I love the tremendous amount of giftedness and passion that our parishioners bring to and share with this community; I love that we have the flexibility to worship in three distinct styles every weekend — and the staff to pull it off.

Those are just a few but I encourage you to think about the things you love about St. John’s (I mean besides this sermon). And during coffee hour today you’ll have a chance to add your own items to a list. No need to write your name; just share what you love about St. John’s and we’ll find a way to share some of these over the next few weeks.

We really do have a lot to be thankful for here at St. John’s. We are a growing and thriving and joyful community of faith. And I can’t stress that last part enough — there is a tremendous amount of joy around here. We can laugh, we can have fun, and we can be faithful, committed Christians all at the same time. During this season of stewardship, I encourage your generosity because of what we share here and because of what we have the potential to become.

© 2012 — The Rev. Tim Schenck