Weaving the Web

Many of my friends do not like spiders. I had one friend who called me one day because there had been a spider in her bathtub for a week, and she couldn’t take it anymore. I drove the 10 minutes to her house, removed the spider, and received her gracious thanks. Thank god she had a second bathroom—I can’t imagine her life without that grace, nor what she would have smelled like if that second bathroom didn’t also have a shower.

Many of you might not like spiders, either. But who can deny the beauty in a web that has caught both the early morning dew and the rising sun? The sparkling gossamer shows both the amazing strength and fragility of the web. It takes my breath away.

Just like there are lines that take my breath away, especially when I hear them for the first time. Like when I first heard Mary Oliver’s words, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Or “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.” Or yet again “Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” Lines that resonate in me the same wonderings and ponderings that arise as I see that dewy web in early morning mist. Lines that also show their amazing strength and fragility.

But life is like that, isn’t it—the joy and woe woven fine, our greatest strengths also our most enduring weaknesses, our place in the universe trumpeted loud and clear on some days, and on others, the despair that lies in wait. Loving the web, but not so sure if we love the creator of that self same web. Ah, life. Harsh and exciting, scared and fragile, each of us trying to find our place, to know ourselves home.

Each of us in search, I believe, of religious community. For where else is it that we are called into community simply to be with each other, to ponder questions of depth, to wonder aloud why we are here, to gather together in times of loss, crisis, sorrow, joy, triumph and accomplishment. I know of few places where journeys of the heart and mind, of spirit and soul, are bound into one; few places where we are welcome as we are, without others trying to change us. (Well, okay, let me be totally honest here—there are things I want to change about you. Or some of you. If truth be told, I want you all to become evangelical Unitarian Universalists. But that was the sermon I gave in January. This is March, time for a different tune.)

All joking aside, though, where else can you go where the community wants to wrap itself around you, to hold you, to dance with you, to laugh with you, to cry with you? Where else? If you have other places in your life, consider yourself lucky and blessed, for there are not many for whom that is true.

People seek out religious community most when there are changes in life. They—you—are seeking a religious place that can hold them and help bind the wounds and make each day, if not better, than just not quite so much alone. Religious communities cannot prevent disasters, cannot prevent loss or misfortune, but they can hold us in a strong embrace when we—individually or collectively—are forced to face life’s unhappy times. The web’s strands hold us up when we feel down.

People also come to us in good times. When a child is added to a family, sometimes parents realize that they want that child to know something of religion, and they seek out a community. As we enter into wedding season I’m reminded that brides also seek out clergy; not so much for religious community, but rather too often looking only for the Marrying Sam or Samantha, someone sort of like a caterer or florist who can provide a service but without community or strings attached.

Yet what those brides and grooms forget, or what they have never really thought about at all, is that religious communities provide so much more than someone who says “I now pronounce you.” We are here for the everyday times, too. We are places that embrace people, no matter what the season of life. Intentional religious communities provide something extra.

Like a place where you can wrestle with questions about the meaning of life, and what it means to live a good life. We are a place to go when you wrestle with questions of right and wrong, or when you want to talk about the state of the world, and have others share your concerns.

We are also places where, if not everyone, at least a significant number of people, know your name. We are a place of fellowship, a place to spend time with people who, like you, value life. We are a place where you can go to learn and stretch, through courses and programs, or through taking leadership positions and discovering new abilities and learning new skills.

We are a place where families can come together, with liberal religious education for our youngest to learn how to value themselves, play fair, think for themselves, and work well with others. We are a place where everyone knows that who they are matters.

And perhaps most important of all, you get the chance to learn all over again, day after day, that who you are is precious. That who you are is valued. That who you are matters most of all.

Yet when people choose not to take part in a religious community, they miss all this, and they forget one other very important thing: that without people who consciously choose to weave together a community of support and love, without people who connect each of us together, there will be no religious communities for the times of strain. There will be no places where one can celebrate the amazing things that come from being alive. There will be no person who knows them when it comes time for them to die. There will be no place that values them as much as does our liberal religious tradition. They miss the chance to sink into the animal softness of their bodies, relax into a community of warmth, support, memory and hope.

I’m just reminding you of things you always know—or perhaps helping put words to the inarticulate feelings you have. For today I know I’m preaching to the choir—you are people who already know that religious community, and UUCM in particular, holds you well in an embrace of connection. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother to get up out of bed on what might be for some of you the only day of the week when you have a choice about whether or not to sleep in. You, here, have made a choice to enrich your lives with the goodness that is UUCM.

You have found this a place where you can give of yourselves, and a place where you will be held in the embrace of a community that knows and values you when the times are hard. Certainly we can be consoled by people who don’t know us, but oh, how much safer it feels when the arms that enfold us are ones we’ve known before.

Even in times of hardship within the congregation, you have found this to be a place where you know the truth of Mary Oliver’s words: “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.” Even when harsh words have been spoken, or trusts broken, there is still an underlying truth: that in the best of this community, we have only to let the soft animal of our bodies love what they love. Here we have only to be ourselves. Ourselves, mindful of the possibilities and values of community, to be sure. But here, where the fullness of our humanity is welcomed, and where we don’t have to park any part of our humanity outside the door. This is a valuable place, a wild and precious gift of our days—that we can be here together.

And so we get to that big question that is in front of us all today. What will you give to this one wild and precious church you love? What will you give to make sure that UUCM is here for you, day after day, week after week, year after year? Or, to put it differently, how much of a tax deduction do you want and need for next year?

But before I continue, a song to sing! [Congregational singing of G-I-V-E]

My first piece of advice: You shouldn’t give until it hurts; you should give until it feels good. Until it feels good. If you don’t feel good about what you’re giving, then one of two things is going on: you’re giving too much and are feeling taken advantage of, or you’re giving too little and feel as if you’re not giving your fair share. Resentment arises from giving too much, guilt and shame from giving too little. Figure out which is you, and then act accordingly.

Far more often in our UU communities, it’s the guilt and shame rather than the resentment. For although overall Unitarian Universalists have the second highest average income of any religious tradition (second only to the Jews), Unitarian Universalists rank second from the bottom in average giving to their congregations—this time second only to the Catholics. We also tend to give less, both in percentage and absolute dollars, than those who make less than we do. From the survey I shared with you last month, the median and mean pledge levels here at UUCM are lower than many other UU congregations in the Bay Area. You as a congregation have the largest percentage of members giving $500 or less than any other congregation I’ve served—more than one-third of you.

Yet I also know that one of the reasons that Unitarian Universalists are, by far, not the greatest givers, is that we too rarely talk straightforward about money at all. I hold as a faith statement that members of our congregations want to pay a fair share, but too often we don’t know what that fair share should be. Too many of us watched parents give a dollar as the collection plate went by, and think that that’s all we need to give today. I know I had to be taught about giving to my church, just like I had to be taught who to tip—wait staff, massage therapists, hotel housekeepers—and how much. This is nothing to be ashamed of—for there are many things that we have to learn in this life.

So let me begin, or continue, your education now. But first, listen to me right now: your being here is the most important part. Your involvement in and commitment to the congregation is what is most central, regardless of your ability to pay. We want you, which is why although membership status is tied to pledging, the bylaws clearly allow for people to ask for a waiver. Simply speak to me about that, and it will be taken care of. Your being here is the most important.

But for the rest of us who can afford it, the question is often asked “What is expected of me?” The letter you received about the annual pledge drive gave some suggestions. The suggestion is to give a minimum of 3 percent. If everyone could do this, then UUCM would be in great shape. But not everyone can. Some must give less, no matter how large their heart and desire; and others can give more. That’s the way things are in the world. If everyone could afford to do so, the per member cost runs about $1450. Which is why those who can give more are encouraged to do so. Let me be clear on one other point: there is no upper limit to the amount that you can pledge and give to the congregation. I know it sometimes feels that way, but we’ll be happy to accept your donations in the multi-million dollar range, too. (Okay, I had to get some humor in here somehow!)

Let me tell you what I plan to do. Years ago, I realized that 3% of my income didn’t feel right to me. I’m on my way up to 10% to religious life. This next year, I’m planning on giving away 5.5%. As an interim minister, the UUA writ large is my “congregation,” so I’m giving just under 3% to the UUA’s capital campaign, and then another 1% to other UUA bodies, including to the Church of the Larger Fellowship, my congregation of record. And I’m pledging the remaining 1.5% to the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Marin, even though I’m not a member, and even though I don’t get a vote.

I’m giving this, not because I have to, not because of some written or unwritten interim rule—we don’t come pre-pledged along with coming pre-fired, even though renewed. I’m doing this because I want to. I’m doing this because it makes my heart sing to do so. This congregation—you people—need to be here. This is what I want to do with this one wild and precious congregation.

And so, I ask and I urge you to be generous, too. Think for a moment about how much this place means, not only to you and for you, but how much UUCM’s presence means to this part of our world. Think about what Unitarian Universalism offers in these days of turmoil and intolerance. Think about what you would do on Sunday mornings without this place.

Okay, so perhaps you’d get more sleep, and you’d feel more rested in your body, you’d go hiking in the hills. But what about in your spirit and soul? For if we were not here Sunday mornings, we would not be here for Small Group Ministries on Sundays, Mondays and Thursday, or for Choir on Tuesdays, or Men’s Group and knitting circle on Wednesdays, or Saturday clean-ups, or Ides of March game night, or for Remarkable People, or Dinners for Eight, the Retreat, or casual phone calls or other special times of being together with and for each other. We would not be here to take food to Mill Street, or work to save our environment, or Walk for Hunger, or to provide a liberal voice in this community. Imagine, for a moment, this world—your world—without UUCM. Imagine that.

And then imagine carefully, what is it that you will give to this one wild and precious congregation. Think of that. Don’t think unrealistically, pledging more than is reasonably possible. But I urge you to stretch yourselves, stretch your generous spirits, your generous hearts, your generous minds, and take that next step up. It does none of us good to make unrealistic promises, for UUCM relies upon what you say, and you will only feel bad if you can’t come through. But I urge you to stretch, to reach, to think about your true priorities. A latte a day at Starbucks is over a thousand dollars a year. Is UUCM worth a latte a day? A Filet-o-Fish meal every day at McDonald’s is over $1500 a year. Is UUCM worth a fish sandwich a day? Cable TV and internet access easily costs $60 a month, and often up to $150 a month. So that’s somewhere between $720 and $1800 a year. Is having a minister-on-demand as important to you as movies on demand? A tank of gas runs somewhere between $35 and $70, and I fill up once a week. That’s $1820 to $3640 a year—how much does UUCM fill up your spiritual and social “tank?” Is UUCM worth that to you—or for those of you with hybrids, is it worth your gas savings every week? A week’s vacation away—what do you spend for that? And is that worth more than what you get from UUCM? You get the drift—all of these are comparisons to help you think about the value of this place compared to the ordinariness of life. What amount will make you feel good about yourself, about your commitment, about your hopes for this wild and precious place?

Remember, that if times turn bad, you may always let us know and reduce your pledge, and no one will dun you for the money or feel any less about you. We understand. Likewise, if you win the lottery next week, you are also allowed to give more, much, much more, for then you’ll need all the charitable contributions you can make!

What matters is that you feel good about what you do. What matters is if you can hold your head high as you come in the door. I will never forget when, years ago, I was the finance chair of a congregation, and we ran into rough times. We asked people to increase their giving. Some did, and we eventually made it through. But what I will never forget is the night that Brian called. He and his wife and their two kids were constant in attendance. The kids had grown and blossomed since they started coming, gaining confidence, laughing more. Brian and his wife volunteered lots around the church, but hardly gave a penny. As pledge chair I knew that. That night, Brian told me that he and his wife had recently avoided declaring bankruptcy, but only barely. They were on the strictest of budgets, with only $50 a month for discretionary spending—for all their meals out, their movies out, their entertainment, their children’s allowance. But, said Brian, if it would help, they all decided that they could give $15 of that $50 to the church. I thanked Brian, told him all was well, even though at that moment it was not, and that we did not need them to give that money right now, and I would let them know if and when we did. When I hung up that phone, I wept. Wept for the importance of that congregation to this family—that the kids were willing to give up their allowances, were willing to give up an extra rented movie a month, because the church meant so much to them. That, I realized, that is giving until it felt good. And I wept for the importance of that family to the congregation—that they were the reason we needed to be around. I increased my pledge that night by more than their $15, and have never looked back.

For it is true that some of us can give more than our average share, just like some of us can only give less than our average share. But all of us, every single one of us, can be part of weaving this web, of giving until it feels good. Until it feels good. Think about it. Think deeply. Feel. Feel deeply. Realize that this one wild and precious congregation is here for you, and here because of you. And may it always, always be so.

Weaving the Web by the Rev. Dr. Lisa Presley March 2, 2008

Weaving the Web
by the Rev. Dr. Lisa Presley
March 2, 2008