Stewards in the Hands of a Loving God

A love-soaked heart, new growth

And sure intention

Turn sterile seed to

Prayer, song, kindness,

The heart’s invention.

Shoots in Eden’s soil

Raise no glory

Until roots are

Spring-fed

By our redemptive story.

Public benevolence

May yield no blessing,

Spreading the field

Of self-importance,

No Lord confessing.

Prayer, song and kindness

Are a circling vine

Bringing down from heaven

The reign

Of the Divine.

 Bill Tucker

I don’t think it is too controversial for me to say that St. Clare’s is a special place. I think we’ve all felt it at various times. For me, I could somehow feel that there was something different about Saint Clare’s the first Sunday we came here. Now, those of you who don’t know me well might not know that I’m not really all that into the whole “feelings” thing, but there is just no other way to describe how this place hit me. I didn’t fully understand it, I still don’t, but I knew I wanted more.

So we came back. It kept feeling good. And I liked the people I met here, and the worship was fantastic, and I had never heard such good sermons in all my life. Now, tell me, does this at all resonate with you? Does some of that sound familiar? All right, then I think we might be on the same page here. See, that initial rush of being new to this place, and new to you all, while fantastic, carried in it an imbalance, something that is just slightly off.

You see, when I was in that initial rush getting to know Saint Clare’s and the Episcopal Church, I was engaging in an act of consumption, I was, essentially, a consumer. I was taking something from it, from you all, but I wasn’t really contributing. I wasn’t helping to make the magic of Saint Clare’s happen. I wasn’t producing. I wasn’t doing my part to help produce the community that is Saint Clare’s.

Now, one of my favorite passages in Bible makes a fairly emphatic point that there is a time for everything on this earth. There is a time for drawing upon this community, for being comforted by it, consoled by it, fed by it. But I cling to this funny notion that Jesus isn’t all about us being warm and cozy. There’s an element of growth, of change, required by the path we’re all choosing and these things can be scary at times.

I think one way we can foster some of this change, this growth, a way we can respond to Christ’s disturbing presence, is through shifting our relationship to the community of Saint Clare’s from one of consumption to one of production. Now, we have many, many fine examples all around us of people who give of their time, talent, and treasure, to help produce this community, and yet they at the same time clearly get something out of this place, simultaneously. These things are not in opposition. But while recognizing that we all are constantly drawing from and contributing to the production of this community, we have to ask if our actions tip the scales towards the production of this community, if we leave it larger, more vibrant than we found it, better able to reach out to the world around us.

I think my use of the word “production” might be misleading. For what we do here is not really the production of a joyful, generous, community but the reproduction of the Saint Clarian community across time. And in doing this, we reproduce the Episcopal Church, the Anglican tradition, and Christianity itself on into the future. It’s no trivial thing then, this place. It isn’t just some funky church in a college town, but a place that has somehow tapped into something that I have trouble defining as anything other than the Spirit. Which means our job is pretty important. We’re tasked with carrying the Spirit forward onto the next generation, and out into the wider world. This production, this reproduction, requires all of us to help build this community by giving generously of our time, talent, and treasure, because it just wouldn’t work, it wouldn’t be the same place, it wouldn’t be Saint Clare’s, if we didn’t.

–Rick Rodems

The Forward, Day by Day reading for Wednesday, October 17 (Luke 9:1-17), about the feeding of the five thousand, coupled with conversation in a Vestry meeting, inspired this meditation.

During the Vestry meditation (on Luke 3:11), that evening, the point made was that the Biblical standard of giving might actually be greater than the long accepted standard of ten percent. Perhaps the standard is equivalent to one day’s pay or about one sixth (1 Corinthians 16:2). It could be, as was mentioned in the Vestry discussion, as high as fifty percent (Luke 3:11) or one hundred percent (Mark 12:42-44).

So this got me thinking about the “boy here” in John’s story of the feeding of the five thousand. (Although the story appears in all four Gospels, only John mentions from whence the five loaves and two fish came.) Consider what he gave. Imagine the stewardship gift of the boy with the loaves and fishes.

It has been suggested that there was plenty of food at that gathering. Wise adults carried rations in case of just such a circumstance as being both hungry and far from a source of food. But would you, in those circumstances, reveal to Andrew or some other scruffy follower of an itinerant preacher, “Sure, I’ve got three granola bars and a flask of new wine” if you were asked for food? My inclination would be to think, “The food I’m packing will just barely feed me and my family. I sure don’t want to share it with four thousand, ninety-nine other guys and their families.”

But, with the innocence of a child, this young boy says, “Sure mister. But all I have is these five small loves and a couple of small fish I caught this morning.” What a gift.

A Jewish Midrash suggests that, although Moses did his part at the Red Sea, it took the faith of one man to walk into the water chest deep before God actually rolled the water back.

My theory – which may be heretical to some – is that the miracle was in this boy’s faith and his willingness to trust Jesus and his disciples enough to give them all his food. With his trust he provided the catalyst that motivated the others to share their food producing the abundance that allowed baskets of leftovers to be collected after all had eaten their fill.

During the Vestry meeting there was also a discussion of the financial situation at St. Clare’s. We are faced with a major cost increase for health insurance for our employees. To meet this increase we need a record stewardship pledge, and that is just to maintain our current level of services. Do we have the faith to step out, trusting in God, and give from our substance to make this miracle happen? Can we not only meet the health care requirements of The Episcopal Church for our wonderful staff, but also provide appropriate salary increases?

Who is willing to walk into the water, chest deep, with me?

Pete Ross

Honor the Lord with your substance and with the first fruits of all your produce. Proverbs 3:9

The best thing I’ve heard about stewardship came from Beth Scriven. A few years ago our Disciple 1 class was discussing stewardship of our time and resources, and many of us expressed a feeling that we simply did not have enough of these things. Not enough for ourselves or our families, and certainly not enough to give as much as away as we wished we could.

Beth said something that I will never forget. She said, “Here’s how I do it. I take it off the top.” She explained that she figured out that in order to make time for fun things she has to do them first thing on her day off, before errands and chores stand in the way. Then, there is always enough time. She said pledging to the church works the same way– if her pledge is deducted automatically at the beginning of each month, she doesn’t miss it.

This idea has transformed the way that I think about stewardship in all aspects of my life. Rick and I have begun to use the “take it off the top” principle to plan our leisure: exercise, time together, time with friends: we strive to take it all off the top, and somehow the laundry still gets done. Similarly, E-Giving takes our pledge “off the top” at the beginning of each month, and what remains is enough. It is a very concrete way of beginning to live into the Biblical call to offer our first fruits to God, or as Pete put so well in the last posting, to honor God with our substance, not just our excess.

I do not pretend to be consistently successful at this, not even most of the time. Very often giving my first fruits to God requires grappling with the fear that there will not be enough left. This fear often keeps me from giving, even when I know that I will regret it.

When I do manage to take Beth’s very good advice, I am surprised again and again by the abundance that is returned to me. Being more intentional about the way I spend my leisure has been good for body and soul, making me a better spouse and a more effective social worker. Committing more of my time and resources to our church community has yielded a stronger faith and abiding relationships. Suddenly, what’s left after I have given off the top is not simply enough, it is more.

 Liz Rodems

When we were married, we had an agreement that we would go to church every Sunday. That agreement cost me my job (at a local radio station) when I was called, the first Sunday after our marriage, into work. An agreement is an agreement. So we lived on one meager salary for a while, until I could find another job.

Several weeks after the job loss the annual stewardship campaign began at our small, western Michigan church. I felt an obligation to give back to this little group something for what I received in fellowship and inclusion. We discussed our situation and found ourselves in a quandary. We had no disposable income. I talked to the pastor and asked what I could do. “Rake leaves,” he said. So I raked.

And raked. And raked. And raked until it felt as if my arms were going to fall off (and, in those days, as a volunteer fireman, I was in pretty good shape). Finally, with a huge pile of leaves at the edge of the road, I quit raking. “There has to be a better way,” I thought.

My October discomfort continued through several years of completing a degree, job-hunting, and early, low paying employment. We were able, by then to contribute some funds to our church, but certainly not what I thought was expected. So, each fall, I squirmed in my seat during the annual stewardship campaign.

With two salaries, we finally began to find some disposable income. We had moved into a small house in a Detroit suburb, and were able to buy some functional furniture. But our church was the last on the list and often underfunded.

We went on a weekend religious retreat. The final presentation on the weekend made the point that our experience was already paid for by those who had attended previous retreats. We were encouraged to give from our substance, not from the excess, because if we gave from our substance, as time passed and we would be reminded, when we were unable to afford something we wanted, of our gift and the reason for our gift. It had been a very inspiring retreat and we decided to step out in faith and give – from our substance.

Surprisingly, there were not many times when that gift from what we thought was substance actually limited our ability to meet our needs. That fall the revelation inspired us to talk about proportional giving to our church. We decided to set a percentage of our gross income that we would dedicate to our pledge. We started modestly at three percent, but we committed to increasing that one percent each year.

The truth is, we were not very good at keeping our commitment to increase our pledge by a percent each year, but we did, eventually, achieve our goal of ten percent. I have not regretted that decision and occasionally, for special reasons, we have significantly exceeded ten percent – especially during the second capital campaign to pay off the mortgage on the “new” sanctuary.

The most significant benefit of the decision, though, is the knowledge that we are supporting the worship community we love and that loves us. It is a joyful feeling, now, each fall, to fill out our pledge card and it sure beats raking an eight-foot-high pile of maple leaves to the edge of the road.

Pete Ross

II Corinthians 5:7

On Monday, I attended Ben Carson’s funeral. There were more people than there were prayer books – such was the impact he had on the world – and we made the runs back and forth to the sacristy to try and furnish everyone appropriately. I’d grabbed a few more, and was waiting for the reading to end before walking out again. And as I listened I couldn’t make out everything, but the phrase I heard was “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”

I’ve never been at a memorial service like Ben’s. I’ve never experienced another person’s faith before the way I did when Doug Carson spoke about his son. And I’m still letting God work those words into me, because I don’t know yet why I was there to hear them, and what he wants me to do. But that phrase from Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians has been playing itself over in my head to the extent that I at least know I’m called to write this.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” Do I really walk by faith? Most of the time it seems I walk in the sight of my to-do list, or the sight of my possessions, or what other people think of me. Most of the time I’m looking for some external validation of who I am, some reassurance that I’m doing the right thing, with the weird rationalization perhaps that if I can see it, God can see it!

The funny thing is, when I have the wherewithal to reflect on my life and its blessings, the really huge ones I recall are those that came totally out of the blue. With no explanation. God-given blessings, where God had faith in me. Given by faith, not by sight.

And that’s how God loves, right? It still doesn’t make sense to me all the time, and I don’t think it’s supposed to – but God doesn’t love us based on our achievements (or what we think they’re worth). And stewardship isn’t another thing to add to the list of the things we showed up for, or volunteered at, or contributed to over the year. Because God isn’t about what you do, how much, and how often. Just about the how. The challenge he longs for us to take up is to trust him. I have often felt that trust isn’t earned, but rather given. Trusting God – really trusting God – means walking by faith and not by sight. One gift, regardless of its size or scope, given with compassion towards ourselves and others and to the glory of God, is like the lost sheep or the lost coin. It’s worth everything to Him.

We’re all on our own journey with God. It’s not a race and it’s not a competition. And while our experiences are our own, the joy of our faith is that they’re ours to share with one another – when we find it harder to feel God’s presence in our lives, we have each other to remind us that we are not alone and He is with us. So I’m asking you to find one gift today, with compassion for God within you and God in all of us. Whatever that means to you – again it’s not the what, it’s the how that counts. And be gentle with yourself. It’s not about perfection – it’s about the practice.

Imogen Howes

The declaration of the skies, the revelation of the world

Relate the story of God’s hand at work as nature is unfurled.

The day communicates to day and night imparts the truth to night;

Yet no one speaks, no words exist to tell of God’s great might.

In silence, God’s creation sings, resounding throughout all the earth.

The sun pours warmth on everything, rejoicing at the world’s re-birth.

God’s perfect law revives the soul, his guidance makes the simple wise.

His good instruction warms the heart, his pure commands lift up the eyes.

I fear you for I know your might. I trust you for I feel your grace.

I love you for I seek your truth. I offer you my humble praise.

And who can understand his faults? Direct me, Lord, to look within.

Conceal me from my enemies and set me free from secret sin.

Let meditations of my heart and words be pleasing in your sight;

Redeemer, rock and rescuer, illumine, kindle with your light.

These truths are more precious than gold, more precious than mountains of gold.

They are sweeter than honey that drips from the comb.

For they light the way,

For they light the way,

For they light the way

To a heavenly home.

c. Ruth Somervell, 2008

Each day God places a small piece of the Kingdom in each of our hands, and for me, St. Clare’s has become over the years, a very active, visible and palpable piece of God’s growing Kingdom among us all.  Indeed, this stewardship season it is good to remember that in our hands we hold both an awesome responsibility and a gift of unimaginable Grace!

A few years ago, a country group, Sugarland hit the charts with a song called “Something More.”  One phrase was very memorable: “Armageddon could be knocking at my door, but I ain’t gonna answer, that’s for sure. There’s got to be something more!”

Some 41 years ago, when Judie Erb and I first landed in Ann Arbor, we were only too aware that the world was filled with suffering, poverty, war, and impending environmental catastrophes.  We had no solutions and were definitely looking for “something more.”  Initially, our shopping for a church home was spectacularly unsuccessful.  Then, by chance, one Sunday I stopped by St. Clare’s during a 12 o’clock folk service.  Immediately I realized I had found “something more,” and we have been active members of St. Clare’s ever since.

While, at first, that “something more” was a only welcoming community that embraced joyfully worshiping God, during the past 41 years, we have been privileged to be part of a faith community that year by year has grown ever more vibrant.  We partnered with TBE to provide facilities that were large enough for us to grow. Our church school program grew from being mediocre to being spectacular. We have a fantastic youth program and our youth now can participate in numerous service opportunities.  Our music program and choir blossomed and fills many of our lives with joy. Our clergy provides us with spiritual guidance, liturgical innovation, and the wise leadership needed for facing future challenges.   We are welcoming regardless of ethnicity or sexual, political or theological orientation.  We provide relief, medical care and hope to Haitians living in Mirebalais.  We work with other faith communities to feed the hungry at the Back Door Food Pantry, the Salvation Army Kitchen, and the Delonis Center and provide shelter for the homeless during the winter.   And because so many St. Clarians actively work to bring God’s Kingdom into the lives of those around us, every few years, we raise up a new postulant for the priesthood.

Judie and I have been blessed for 41 years to be member of St. Clare’s, and I give thanks for our congregation’s many faithful stewards, the ones who decided, year after year, to unselfishly give their encouragement, time and money to support St. Clare’s operation. Their contributions have enabled St. Clare’s to be that “something more” in the lives of each of us.

But our journey together is far from over.  With God’s grace and with the strong support of each of us during this stewardship season, I pray that St. Clare’s will continue to be “something more” in each of our lives for many years to come.

by Jim Downward