Commitment Sunday

Dick Cody, Helen Kaar, Keith Nier, Emily Galbraith & Julia Miller
The Unitarian Church in Summit
March 7, 1999

Dick Cody

Good morning. I'm Dick Cody, a member of this congregation, and it is my pleasure this morning to welcome you to the Unitarian Church in Summit.

Today is a special day for us -- it is Commitment Sunday. We have come together this morning to contemplate our commitment to this church and to each other. At the conclusion of the service, our members and friends will have an opportunity to make a financial commitment by completing an Estimate of Giving card for the 1999-2000 church year.

I light the chalice this morning with words from Christine Robinson:

We gather this hour as people of faith
with joys and sorrows, gifts and needs.
We light this beacon of hope,
sign of our quest
for truth and meaning,
in celebration of the life we share together.

This morning we contemplate commitment and responsibility. James Wordsworth said: "Commitment unlocks the doors of imagination, allows vision, and gives us the 'right stuff' to turn our dreams into reality."

Josiah Stamp said: "It is easy to dodge our responsibilities, but we cannot dodge the consequences of dodging our responsibilities." And this from Henry David Thoreau:

If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind and will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of things ... the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.

I invite you to join in a covenant:

Love is the doctrine of this church,
the quest for truth is its sacrament,
and service is its prayer.
To dwell together in peace,
to seek knowledge in freedom,
to serve life in fellowship, to the end
that all souls may grow in harmony --
thus do we covenant with each and with all.

A reading from Mark Morrison-Reed:

The central task of the religious community is to unveil the bonds that bind each to all. There is a connectedness, a relationship discovered amid the particulars of our own lives and the lives of others. Once felt, it inspires us to act for justice.
It is the church that assures us that we are not struggling for justice on our own, but as members of a larger community. The religious community is essential, for alone our vision is too narrow to see all that must be seen, and our strength too limited to do all that must be done. Together, our vision widens and our strength is renewed.

Helen Kaar

Good morning. I'm Helen Kaar, and I've been a member here for six years.

The juncture of so many changes seems a good time to reflect on transition and belonging. Life depends on change. A blood cell, for instance, lives only about 90 days. From this perspective, we are literally different people from moment to moment. At the same time, from moment to moment, we answer to our names; life values continuity, and most of the energy it uses, it uses to keep things the same. Continuity and change meet at a point, the point of transition. That elusive point is the present. We are always in it, though we often focus on the future, that is, on change, or the past, which is continuity.

On rare occasions, a transition shifts us off the ground of our certainty to begin clearing a space for important change. I'd like to tell you about just such a transition.

I've spent most of my life in this part of New Jersey. Yet only six years ago did I feel any belonging. I found it here. It captured me so completely, I joined after four consecutive Sundays. But in the middle of my second year, I was still very new. I wasn't prepared for the name-change schism.

For anyone who has joined us since then, this started with a proposal to change our name from "The Unitarian Church in Summit" to "The Unitarian Universalist Congregation in Summit" -- a whole bunch of similar-sounding words, yet beneath their bland surface runs a serious fault. It turns on the distinction between "church" and "congregation," and it produced a truly astonishing outcry. Right here, at an annual meeting, the anger broke, and for the first time since I walked in, I felt I did not belong.

Sensitive to the depth of the anger the issue tapped, some members led discussions to explore its implications with the hope of strengthening our natural sympathies. With two facilitators and some half-dozen participants, I went to a session absolutely certain of the correctness of my opinion. All but one in my group were on the opposite side. Lacking the wisdom of my lone ally, I pressed ahead. It was me against them. And I think it would be fair to say others paid me in the same coin. Skilled and gentle, our facilitators kept us true to our objective. They guided us through the valley of this shadow to hear what feelings underlay what until then only came across as inflexible opinion.

Under its cover, each felt a threat. To simplify it greatly, those who wanted the old name feared the loss of continuity. Those who wanted the new name feared an end, even an unraveling of change. I fell in this camp. When one of my opposites protested she could not tell her friends she was going to the "congregation," I said, "You could tell them you are going anywhere. Tell them you are going to 'church.' How will they know the difference?" And although I didn't admit it at the time, it struck me I could take my own advice. If I was saying words shouldn't be so important to her, why were they so important to me? Then someone else described my viewpoint as "intolerant." Some part of that felt true.

A curious thing happened. Having spent the time in unresolved conflict, I left feeling a special attachment to all of them, one I still feel. Maybe it's because I recognized in their eyes the same loss of belonging that the question had brought out in me. Belonging is a kind of continuity, whether we get it from the comfort of the familiar or from a common belief -- change.

What matters is we risked a real disagreement, and that expressed trust as much as it does any anger or fear. We did it in this place and it supported us and absorbed the pain we presented as opinion.

I lost what I came in with: a blueprint community, ideal but uninhabitably flat. In its stead I moved into a community a little gritty and a lot more real. This unexpected and healing shift, this transition toward a change I have yet to accomplish fully, didn't change my mind. But it did change my heart. It feels good. It feels good to be together, in the present, in transit toward change -- it feels good to celebrate our belonging.

Dick Cody

Kenneth L. Patton said:

We arrive out of many singular rooms, walking over the branching streets. We come to be assured that brothers and sisters surround us, to restore their images on our eyes. We enlarge our voices in common speaking and singing. We try again that solitude found in the midst of those who with us seek their hidden reckonings. Our eyes reclaim the remembered faces; their voices stir the surrounding air. The warmth of their hands assures us, and the gladness of our spoken names. This is the reason of cities, of homes, of assemblies in the houses of worship. It is good to be with one another.

Keith Nier

I'm Keith Nier, and I've been around this place for almost a decade-and-a-half.

When I was asked to talk about what difference our church makes in my life, and in the community, I seriously considered setting forth an abstract, philosophical answer, outlining a worldview and then praising this institution for providing a context where I could think that way and feel at home.

But that really would only speak to the role of Unitarian Universalism in general rather than this congregation. Besides, it could take quite a while, and we only get a few minutes each before Dick reaches for the hook. Instead, I'm focusing on a very practical, everyday, behavioral level.

Okay: Practically, what difference does this church make to me and to the community? In sum -- too much, and too little!

This place takes up too much of our time, absorbs too much effort, requires too much attention. And, since we're not comfortable having other people cover our share, it costs a good bit, too. Our kids have been telling Lessie and me for years that we go to too many meetings. I could be home, sleeping 'til noon -- well, more realistically, I'd be working at some of the household matters that we keep putting off. In any case, this brings out the real issue:

Why am I here? Not today, but ever? Why do I keep at it, even voluntarily paying for the privilege? And is this anything like your experience? We can't cover this fully, but we can get at the foundations of an answer.

In the classic movie Western, "The Magnificent Seven," one of the disreputable fighters is asked, incredulously, why he had gotten into a battle against huge odds for a cause he apparently didn't need to get involved in at all. In response, he presented the explanation supposedly given by a man who had suddenly torn off his clothes and rolled in a cactus patch. His words? "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

I could say that, too. It's a great line -- it's funny; it implies that some important things are not briefly explicable; it seems to deftly dismiss the uncomprehending questioner as a bad guy not worth a long answer; and it provides a warning that even if you judge that the struggle was important and not crazy, it just might be something that can never be made clear. It's a little like saying, There is a good reason -- but you had to be there. It's a lot like the old line about jazz -- if you have to ask for a definition, you'll never understand.

So, sure, I could answer that way and it would be true, but it really only dodges around the challenge: Why am I here -- and why are you here, too? That same line, however, has a simpler and more important meaning. It seemed like a good idea at the time. That is why we, you and I, are here, sustaining this church, week in, week out. Supporting this religious community really does seem to be a good idea, and not just at one time -- to the best of our awareness and judgment, fallible though we are, this is something we ought to be doing, day after day, year after year, whether we particularly like or agree with something at a given moment.

What is the good? It's not a matter of self-development, nor is it the rather self-centered enjoyment of stimulating sermons, music and conversation. After all, ministers and members come and go over the years -- besides, the good we're dealing with kept me teaching RE classes and attending so many meetings, not just showing up here on various Sundays. And yet it is a paradoxical kind of enjoyment -- the selfish enjoyment of helping unselfish things go forward.

This church is a very special kind of opportunity for me, and for you. So long as this congregation is "going strong," it keeps on providing the experiences, contexts, and stimuli, that support and encourage individual people to maintain in everyday life the values we hold dear, and it spurs us and, at least indirectly, people beyond ourselves to do a better job of matching actions to those values. The fact is, we really can't have the same effect on ourselves, or others, either on our own or through different organizations. When I help the church, I'm realizing this opportunity. Similarly, this church is a special opportunity for me to support the development of character and love in children, in families, and all relationships. I couldn't do anything like the same thing through other organizations. Both of these opportunities include the contributions we make to and the work we do for and with others less fortunate than ourselves. They are even more about what we do for each other.

One more special opportunity we get through this church is for raising influential voices in wider communities: of our denomination, of our region and state, our nation and the world. We have a significant history and identity that can produce extra attention and deep resonance for the voices of our ministers, of those we invite to speak, and of ourselves, if we so choose.

You see, I can enjoy supporting this church because of what it enables me to do. That makes it a good idea. But not good enough -- not yet. To make this clear, I can't do better than to share part of a paragraph recently written by a UU woman, Hillevi Wyman, in the small city of St. Cloud, Minn. Written for a different context, you'll find the words fit right here.

Her Fellowship, she wrote,

means a great deal to me. It isn't exactly the place I want it to be. I want more: more activities, more ministry, more comfortable seats, more accessible space ... I want to see our name attached to events in the community so ... people know we're here, and understand that we contribute something important to the area; so ... people have the chance to discover that Unitarian Universalism is what they've been seeking for so long. I know that if I want more, I have to invest more ... I'm not rich ... In order to pledge what I'm pledging this year ... I have to make some sacrifices. I won't get HBO, or a new car ... I'll save a little less. This pledge will pinch, and that's okay. My faith that liberal religion has a place in this town is strong enough to overcome a little discomfort ... I'm not just paying for Sunday services, this is not out of my entertainment budget. I'm working here to have a community voice, so that I don't feel like the proverbial lone voice in the wilderness, and ... others have a chance to discover all that our wonderful denomination can offer. Pledging is about giving ... resources to back my commitment, and making sure ... my check register really does reflect my values.

And that too, let me add, seems like a very good idea, at any time.

Emily Galbraith

I'm Emily Galbraith. I've been a member here with my family for about 10 years. When I was asked to speak in front of the congregation, I really didn't know what I would say. Now I do. Growing up among the people of this church, I have learned more about myself and my place in the world then I ever thought possible. This church has touched me in so many ways, it is hard to comprehend.

I started in the Sunday school the same time that David Bumbaugh became the minister. When I started, the school had only one session, a few teachers, and only a couple of dozen kids. Now the school has two sessions, many kids, and more teachers than it had students when I started. I am a youth grouper, and have completed almost every class offered by the RE office. Through these experiences, I have begun to see what kind of world we live in and how I can change it for the better.

One of my favorite memories of this church is going to Boston with my Coming of Age class. Not only did we get to visit the UUA office, the YRUU office and learn interesting facts about UU history, we also were able to see the Boston aquarium, and go shopping. Although some were not as excited about this little side excursion -- like my mother, who taught the class -- we enjoyed ourselves, and got to taste just a little bit of freedom.

Another experience that sticks in my mind was the opportunity I had last summer to go to Star Island. For those of you who don't know what this place is like, let me tell you it is amazing. Not only was the island, which is off the coast of New Hampshire, chock full of youth group-age people, it was just us, the seagulls and the staff (the pelicans). This seven-day experience helped me learn about myself, and gave me a quick refresher course in meeting new people. I was one of the only people from New Jersey on the island, and many people had come with their youth groups. In the end, however, I came home with lots of memories and many new friends.

Without this church, I would have never had the opportunities to meet those wonderful people on Star Island, or been able to visit Boston and learn more about UU history. This church has helped me grow and learn. It has also taught me to be tolerant, the importance of freedom, and it has shown me that having a religion that a lot of people can't comprehend is fun, and it is fun to educate them. This is how this church has affected me.

Dick Cody

Dorothy Day said this about commitment:

People say, what is the sense of our small effort. They cannot see that we must lay one brick at a time, take one step at a time. A pebble cast into a pond causes ripples that spread in all directions. Each one of our thoughts, words and deeds is like that. No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless. There's too much work to do.

Julia Miller

Good morning! My name is Julia Miller. Dave and I have been involved in the life of the church for the past nine years. Currently I am serving you as a member of your board of trustees.

I imagine that some of you might recall a Sunday morning, several years ago, when I was running the canvass. I stepped up here and dared you to dream wonderful dreams for this congregation, and encouraged you, by actually talking about money, that powerful and forbidden word, to be generous and fund those dreams, to make those dreams come true. You came through in a big way and we had a budget that reflected those dreams, including, among other things, a large increase in our outreach program, a dream that was important to many of us.

This morning, I'm going to do something different. I want to tell you briefly about just two of the many things that this church has done for me personally.

One is related to the canvass which we organized that year. I wish I could convey to you the mix of feelings I had when David Bumbaugh told you last year that I had made a difference to this congregation by changing the way we think about our budget and our fund-raising. When the leadership of the church asked me to run the canvass that year, I had never, ever participated, in any way, in a pledge drive. The very thought of asking anyone for money was an anathema to me. I couldn't imagine being in charge of raising the thousands, the hundreds of thousands of dollars necessary to fund the annual operating budget of the church. What did I know about it? Nothing. What if I failed? It was too horrible to contemplate.

But the church leaders around that table asked me what I would need to say yes to the job. I said I would need lots of support and advice and resources and volunteers. They promised to make sure I had all of those things. So, after discussing it with my husband, and with great trepidation, I stepped up to the challenge and said yes.

And the leadership came through with their promises. The former canvass chairs, the Codys and the Rosenbergs and the Wagners, passed on materials, lists, data and advice. David Bumbaugh and Carol Haag listened to my radical ideas and promised to support me. Carol found a videotape that was instrumental in convincing me that we could try to fund our dreams. Helen Kaar and her committee created the first of her beautiful canvass brochures. Volunteers labeled and stuffed envelopes. More volunteers helped with the face-to-face visits and the phone calls. My husband, Dave, was a source of encouragement and helpful advice, and he helped with the accounting. Janet Foord and May Daniels and the rest of the Social Concerns Committee and even more volunteers created a fantastic celebration dinner which will live in our memories for a long, long time.

And, while I know I shocked you with my talk that Sunday (I could see it in your faces and was terrified that I had offended you), you understood the challenge and you stepped up to meet it. By asking me to run the canvass that year, the leaders of this congregation gave me a wonderful gift. They trusted me, encouraged me, and empowered me to take a great risk, to dare to do something different and foreign, and to succeed. With the help of the congregation, I was able to make a difference. I was allowed to give something valuable back to the congregation. This gives me as much pleasure and satisfaction as a hard-earned promotion at work. It allowed me to experience unanticipated personal growth. It changed my life.

And, speaking of things that have changed my life, I want to tell you about another gift the church has given to me. Many of you know that I was diagnosed with breast cancer two-and-a-half years ago. While I was going through several surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy, my hospital room and our home were filled with flowers and cards and fruit and all sorts of goodies. Those of you in the congregation who had been through a similar experience shared your wisdom with me, helped me keep my sense of humor, and showed me that I might have a future after all. Your calls and visits cheered us. The books and videotapes you brought distracted me. Your letters comforted and encouraged me. The meals that you prepared made it possible for us to get through many evenings without having to worry about dinner. You cared for me and my family in so many ways. I know your compassion helped to heal me.

Imagine what our life might have been like without such a warm and caring community -- how lonely and scared and exhausted we might have been. Our lives might have been filled with despair and uncertainty. But you shared your thoughts and concerns with us. You gave us your energy. You spent time with us. You invested in us.

Can you do the same for each other and the congregation as a whole now? When you signed the membership book, you were offering to share with the congregation your gifts and your talents and your time, as well as your own needs and limitations. Can you step up and not only reach out to the wounded, but also nurture and support one another's spiritual growth, and work together to create a warm and caring environment? Can you step up and finance this intentional community so we can become even more closely connected to one another?

Join your enthusiasm with others today to make ours an effective, intentional spiritual community. Step up to a higher level of giving. It will change your life.

Dick Cody

We have arrived at this special moment in our Commitment Sunday service when you are asked to give careful thought to this church, the tradition it represents, its place in your life and the opportunities it offers you for spiritual growth. It is the time when you are asked to make a special commitment to its support and its continuance.

W. Somerset Maugham said that money is like a sixth sense without which you cannot make a complete use of the other five. We will build the castles in the air which Thoreau spoke of with our five senses. The commitments we make today will allow us to build the foundations.

Please rise and join hands. We are here dedicated to the proposition that behind all our differences, beneath all our diversity, there is a unity which makes us one and binds us forever together in spite of time and death and the space between the stars. We pause in silent witness to that unity.

May these rafters hear the voice of the child
as surely as that of the orator,
and the sound of the lute, ...
and know that all are as holy
as the shout of a million stars.

-- Eileen B. Karpeles

The sermon in a Unitarian Universalist setting is never the last word on any subject, but rather an invitation to further dialog.

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