“Honoring the Covenant with our Gifts”

by Bruce J. Johnson

April 6, 2003

(A Stewardship Sermon)

I think the AT&T project has been completed. The small building just outside these windows to the south is finished and the three antennae behind the replaced louvers in the belfry are in position. I think that the project turned out quite complementary to the church. Moreover, those of you who have AT&T wireless can stay in touch with one another now, even in the hollow of Main Street here in Coventry. And we have already received our first check, which has certainly helped us through this difficult winter.

In a week or two, the steeple people will be on site, first replacing the wood siding on the spire and then painting the entire steeple. It will soon be glistening in the sun, cutting its reach upward against a blue sky---visible from a number of vantages around town.

I hope that it stands majestically on Main Street as a sign of God’s presence in the people who worship here, who extend themselves to help others, who make evident that what Jeremiah tells us this morning--- that God’s covenant is written upon each of our hearts--- is true. Indeed, Jesus said the same: “Some will come saying look here or look there--- but the kingdom of God is within you.”

In his Sermon on Mount, Jesus said the following:

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hid. Nor do men light a lamp and put it under a bushel, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. So, let you light so shine before men…”

(Matthew 5: 14-16)

That is quite simply the central role of the church—whether on a hill or in a valley--to let its light shine among the shadows and in the midst of the darkness.

It is said often that these are tough times—with the war in Iraq, the threat of terror, economic hardships being created by a downturn in the economy affecting jobs, people’s cash flow, pensions and overall outlook. We deal daily with the other stuff too--- the problems faced by the young trying to grow up, (my goodness, must be sign of my age, when the reports Iraq involve our men and women in the military--- they all seem so young!—growing up fast!), the aging trying to stay young, the illnesses that rupture our lives and the deaths of loved ones that create such a emptiness.

You know, I get asked often how the church is doing in these tough times and I always say that it is in midst of the worst of times that the church is at its best.

However, there was an article a couple of weeks ago in the New York Time’s ‘Religion Journal.’ It was written by Peter Steinfels and its catchy title caught my interest but its content pushed me to thoughtful reflection. The title:

“The Economic Hard Times Beneath the Steeple”—“Houses of worship face tough choices between money and mission.”

The article, of course, cites one situation after another in which churches are struggling financially for a number of reasons—dwindling membership, depressed stock portfolios, lower levels of giving and poor management. At a time when the administration and the church seemingly rejoice in what is called “Faith-Based Initiatives” for providing social services, this article mentions a book by Peter Brinckerhoff: Faith-Based Management: Running Organizations on More Than Just Mission. The central point is that the church needs more than prayer to stay solvent and therefore effective in the world.

As most of you should know, we are presently in the midst of our stewardship drive in support of our church’s 2003-2004 budget, just shy if $270,000. I am happy to opine that I don’t anticipate any economic hard times under our steeple--- this because of our growing membership, a community that has always been so faithful and grateful manifesting itself in generosity. We have never relied upon our investment portfolio because in some ways, thank God, we don’t have one. We do, however, rely upon sound fiscal management while being boldly involved in and responsive to the lives of our members and the community. And this year, especially, with the proposal to expand the staff with an additional ordained minister whose primary responsibility with youth and Christian education and a significant increase in our support of our mission board so that they can do more good things, sound management is even more essential.

Over my three decades as your pastor, I have always been in support and even insistent on first, informative proposed budgets and then a balanced budget at our annual meeting. I think that we have obligation to be open about expenses and what they reveal about the priorities of our ministry. I encourage all of you to read it closely, carefully and prayerfully. Yet, I have also believed that stewardship has little to do with the challenge issued by cost, or should be understand in terms of how we respond to greater expenses, as if to say, “the church has these needs, now how much of that need can you and I meet with our gifts.” Rather it has much more to do with the need we have—in recognition of being blessed--- to be a blessing. We need and use the church to express our gratitude, to honor with our gifts, the covenant of love that God, in the words of Jeremiah, has written upon our hearts and in the figure of Jesus and especially in the sacrament of communion, has shown us.

Max Lucado, in his marvelous book, A Love Worth Giving, tells the following story:

“By all rules, Skinner was a dead man.” With these words Arthur Bressi begins his retelling of the day he found his best friend in a World War II Japanese concentration camp. The two were high-school buddies. They grew up together in Mount Carmel, Pennsylvania—playing ball, skipping school, double-dating. Arthur and Skinner were inseparable. It made sense, then, that when one joined the army, the other would as well. They rode the same troopship to the Philippines. That’s where they were separated. Skinner was on Bataan when it fell to the Japanese in 1942. Arthur Bressi was captured a month later.

Through the prison grapevine, Arthur leaned the whereabouts of his friend. Skinner was near death in a nearby camp. Arthur volunteered for work detail in the hope that his company might pass through the other camp. One day they did.

Arthur requested and was given five minutes to find and speak to his friend. He knew to go to the sick side of the camp. It was divided into two sections--—e for those expected to recover, the other for those given no hope. Those expected to die lived in a barracks called “zero ward.” That’s where Arthur found Skinner. He called his name, and out of the barracks walked the seventy-nine pound shadow of the friend he had once known.

As he writes:

I stood at the wire fence of the Japanese prisoner-of-war camp on Luzon and watched my childhood buddy, caked in filth and racked with the pain of multiple disease, totter toward me. He was dead; only his boisterous spirit hadn’t left his body. I wanted to look away, but couldn’t. His blue eyes, watery and dulled, locked on me and wouldn’t let go.

Malaria. Amoebic dysentery. Pellagra. Scurvy. Beri beri. Skinner’s body was a dormitory for tropical diseases. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t drink. He was nearly gone.

Arthur didn’t know what to do or say. His five minutes were nearly up. He began to finger the heavy knot of the handkerchief tied around his neck. In it was his high-school class ring. At the risk of punishment, he’d smuggled the ring into camp. Knowing the imminence of disease and the scarcity of treatment, he had been saving it to barter for medicine or food for himself. But one look at Skinner, and he knew he couldn’t save it any longer.

As he told his friend good-bye, he slipped the ring through the fence into Skinner’s frail hand and told him to “wheel and deal” with it. Skinner objected, but Arthur insisted. He turned and left, not knowing if he would ever see his friend alive again.

What kind of love would do something like that? It’s one thing to give a gift to the healthy. It’s one thing to share a treasure with the strong. But to give your best to the weak, to entrust your treasure to the dying---that’s saying something. Indeed, that’s saying something to them. “I believe in you,” the gesture declares. “Don’t despair. Don’t give up. I believe in you.” It’s no wonder Paul included this phrase in his definition of love. “[Love] believes all things”

(1 Cor. 13:7 NASB).

Lucado tells the story to emphasize the fact or highlight the reality that we all know people who live on Skinner’s side of the fence. And because that is so, we do our very best to meet that need, to make a difference. I tell the story, however, to highlight Arthur—for in him, we are meant to see ourselves, loved and blessed and who have a love worth giving. And in the giving, we fulfill our calling as human beings, as sons and daughters of God, whose light is meant to shine and whose love must be shared. That’s what stewardship is all about--- expressing what has been written on our hearts in a material way, ‘a love that believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things,’ a love that never ends because it is always being given away—honoring its Source and rejoicing in what it accomplishes.

As you and I make our decisions about what we will give to the church in support of its budget, let us remember Arthur and rejoice in the privilege of giving.

And now as we turn to the table upon which we can see the self-giving of God in the symbols of Christ’s body and blood, let us remember too that we are all Skinners--- receiving hope and salvation from the friend we have in Jesus--God’s own Son.

Come in faith, in hope and in love. Amen