Three people were stranded on an island. The first, a widow from Texas, began to search the wreckage for tools; she wanted to ensure that the trio had shelter for the evening, so she planned to build one. The second, a young college student from OU, began collecting any books they could find—quite a few had been on the plane—and he wanted to ensure that he could have enough knowledge at his disposal to know which plants to eat, how to create clean water, etc. The third, a billionaire from California, sat down on the sand and prayed. So calm and serene, the other two stopped what they were doing and asked him how he was dealing with their situation so well. The man looked up at them, then smiled and said, “Well. I belong to St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church. It’s stewardship season right now, so I have no doubt that my priest will find me in very short order.”
It’s funny because, in some cases, I can actually see this happening. But notice that all three people had individual ways in which they could contribute to the situation—aside from the humorous ending.
Stewardship does crazy things to our brains, as clergy. We sit in front of computer screens, prognosticating potential outcomes and doing our best to write faithful sermons—all the while hoping and praying that our congregations will respond well and not see us as money-hungry people. In this church, I hope we have created the ethos that stewardship comes in many different varieties, and that your clergy are not burning themselves with worry due to your extraordinary love of this place. Time, talent, and treasure are all integral, vital components of that which fuels the church for her mission in the world. Without people giving time—building shelter, showing up to workdays, joining ministries—we don’t make an impact. Without talent—people taking pictures of those moments mentioned above, people cooking for funeral receptions/wedding receptions, or people fixing things around the building—we don’t make an impact. Without people being generous with their treasure, we don’t have the money to: buy the tools to build; purchase the food to cook; pay the salaries of the music ministers, nursery attendants, administrative assistant, and clergy who all work to create a sacred space of worship.
I typically don’t let stewardship get under my skin, here. This place has proven faithful to doing what the people say they’ll do. You’ve been in the valley, you know what it is to struggle. You’re currently in (or at least it’s my hope that you feel this way) an upward advance of joy. This place is thriving…growing every day into a deeper relationship with God and with our neighbors, and with God’s help and your faithfulness, it will continue to do so.
Over the next three weeks, you’ll be hearing about stewardship, each Sunday. Not just money. Not just time. Not just talent. But all three, because it takes all three. My hope is that you will continue to give graciously and generously of those things—whether it be one, two, or all three. It takes all of us to make this work, to keep the lights on so that others who are in the dark may find their way to our doors—these doors that provide a space of the Holy, a sense of hospitality, and a place of safety to the lost, lonely and searching souls of our immediate and broader community. Bless you for your work, your time, and your loving souls.
Thank you for playing your part in what makes the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection such a shining bastion of hope for the people in and around it.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+