Gretchen Donart
October 12, 2003

When I joined the St. Paul’s Stewardship committee earlier this year, someone commented that money was the only subject harder for church people to talk about than sex — and we weren’t very good at talking about sex.

But we’re getting better at both. Last week Deacon Richard Buhrer talked about sex, love and divorce. So this week I’m here to talk about money.

I’m new at this. I’ve never stood in this pulpit before, so bear with me if this doesn’t resemble any talk you’ve heard. And I hope that our visitors will bear with me as we talk about some urgent work of this congregation.

In a few weeks, St. Paul’s Church will send each member of this congregation a letter asking you to consider how you will support our life here together in 2004. You will be asked to consider the needs of this parish.

And you will be asked to consider giving a proportion of your income to that support.

This year, we’re staggering financially.

Yes, the doors are open, the heat is on, the music and liturgy lift us. But…
…we have nothing in the budget for building repairs
…we have no budget for children’s programming or outreach
…we give nothing from our budget to support the poor, the homeless or to advocate on their behalf
…our staff salaries are crummy—below other parishes in the area and dependent on the generous gift of our whole staff, clergy & lay
…and we are not paying our assessment to the Diocese of Olympia.

But I’m not gloomy… this year we raised the money to demolish the yellow house and begin the transformation of our corner into a green space of peace and tranquility. We raised that money in pretty smart time. And we raised enough working capital that we’re paying bills—except the assessment—on time.

That’s reason for hope. Here’s another:

As we go through the process of calling a new rector, our congregation is pulling together,
aided by two terrific & wise priests, a smart & funny deacon, by talented and hard-working musicians, and lay people who are teaching Sunday school, repairing our building, singing the hymns and prayers, organizing study groups, cooking for the poor and friendless, leading the daily office, and bringing the Lord’s Supper to shut-ins.

So here’s our opportunity:
We need to look hard at the unglamorous—and invisible—part of the budget and we need to get it right, this coming year. That means we need to figure out how to meet the parish’s financial needs and give of ourselves.

And how do we put this in the context of today’s Gospel?
What are we to make of Jesus’ admonition to give all to the poor and follow him along a hard road? To give up family, home, security…
Sometimes it’s too much, and we turn away and just don’t deal with it.

But we can’t avoid Mark’s blunt-talking Jesus
who is asking us to take stock of what’s important in our lives and make a radical commitment to it.

Exactly what does St. Paul’s parish mean in our lives? Is it important? How important? Can we put a number on it?
Is it 1/2 percent or 1 percent or 2 percent, maybe 5 or 10% or more?

This is really hard to think about, because it’s all or nothing with God.
Our love of God—and God’s love for us—can’t be measured by decimals or fractions.
(I remember the parable of the vineyard workers who were paid the same, whether they started work at dawn or at noon. )

God’s measure is absolute—and grateful hearts know that it all belongs to God anyway.

So figuring out how to support our life here at St. Paul’s is a challenge, and we have to start somewhere. And so it’s back to fractions. I know I have to start at home, with some home budget negotiations. At my house these aren’t easy conversations to have. I share my household with a partner who is highly skeptical of organized religion. “You give how much?!?” is how the conversation starts, regardless of how much I gave that year.

What carries me through this tough conversation with the skeptic is my profound gratitude to God and to two parishes, one in Brooklyn NY and one here, both named St. Paul’s and both of which welcomed me with open arms and gave me the space to know God’s presence and properly thank God.

I have a Thanksgiving list. It’s personal and quirky, perhaps, and every one of you could make your own, but here goes!

I’m grateful to God and a congregation that took me in as a very hurt and angry person, alienated from the church for 15 years and on the edge of a divorce…and let me heal, and love and remarry...

I’m grateful for the welcome shown my son and his miscellaneous friends—now all teenagers and way too cool to go to church with Mom—who absorbed God’s love while playing with Legos in the front pew during Mass—and have returned that love to other children as counselors at Camp Huston…

I’m grateful for wonderful preaching here by lay and ordained people who have nourished my faith and my understanding and challenged my thinking…

I’m grateful to be here each Sunday and belt out the Gloria with a room full of people…

I’m grateful for the religious jokes we exchange via e-mail…

I’m grateful when we sing or listen to the music of living composers who tell of God’s presence in this age…(yes, that’s my shameless plug for contemporary music…and my thanks to the musicians who make it.)

I’m grateful that I can be proud of my church when it has affirmed the lives and ministry of all God’s people…including women, gays and lesbians…

And I’m grateful for the opportunity to pray in the utter quiet during the midnight hours of the Maundy Thursday vigil—and to try to listen in that quiet for the small still voice.

That’s a lot of thanksgiving—there’s more, of course, but it’s a start. But it’s why I am sure that God is owed my all and why, yes, I struggle over the fraction of my income and my time that belongs to God.

I challenge every one of you to open your prayer books to the General Thanksgiving. It’s on pages 58 & 101.

Make your own list, do your own math.