SERMONS 

Meaningful Membership

Earlier this church year our board held a special meeting to talk about membership. They wanted to explore the ways we support membership in this congregation. We started by listing the reasons we come to church. The reasons we are members. It was powerful. I don’t remember exactly how it went—but I do remember that many of us described the way our association with this congregation nurtures us and challenges us.

For myself, so many things come to mind. I remember returning to church services in Macon, Georgia the Sunday after my best friend Vickie was killed in a car accident. It was All Souls Sunday. It was excruciating. And still, it was possible. I was held up by my religious community. I will also always remember returning here after my mother’s death in December. You held me up. You nurtured me when I have felt I wasn’t sure that anything would ever make sense again.

I can also think of numerous ways you have challenged me. I remember a question after a sermon that helped me see that my thinking was too simplistic and had the result of diminishing someone. I remember a sad and heartfelt email that helped me see that I hadn’t reached out when I should have. I remember Laurie Stevens with her paper plates to protest the food tax. She helped me act on my faith, when I probably wouldn’t have without her prompting.

I am challenged and nurtured here. Your nurture helps make it possible to bear the losses of life. Your challenge helps me live with greater integrity, compassion, and faith. This is not something I do merely because it’s my job. Being a part of religious community is the most important spiritual practice I engage in. This morning I want to ask you to give some thought to why you are here. And I want to share some of my thoughts about what a religious community can be.

Remember when Shug and Celie are talking about church in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple? Each has tried to make sense in her own life of God and religious community. Shug asks Celie:

Tell the truth, have you ever found God in a church? I never did. I just found a bunch of folks hoping for him to show. Any God I ever felt in church I brought in with me. And I think all the other folks did too. They come to church to share God, not find God.

It’s a good reminder. We don’t come to church, we don’t participate in religious community, and then sit back and passively wait for Life, or that which Holy and Good, or God—we come to share Life, to offer our lives to each other in good faith and in hope.

This is why I often share some guidelines, or paths, with people considering becoming members. You see, becoming a member here is startlingly easy. All you have to do is tell someone after the service that you want to be a member. Then you sign the book, over there. The membership representative will give you a new member packet, take your picture, and that’s it. To stay eligible to vote, you must make some kind of financial contribution within the first twelve months and in subsequent years. That’s it.

The board is exploring how this works. They are setting up a task force to look into matters related to membership. I’m sure you will be hearing more about this. They and I realized in this process that I meet regularly with prospective members and offer my little “spiel” about how to make membership meaningful—but most of them (the members of the board) had never heard it. We agreed that I would do a sermon on this topic in order to share my understandings with more than just our prospective members.

So, here’s the spiel. You might say the paths that I believe lead to meaningful membership. First, participation in worship. Worship is the centerpiece of our life together. In worship we seek what is worthy, we recall ourselves to each other, we gather in new friends, we ritually acknowledge the importance of this community in our lives by lighting candles, we ritually set aside this special time with our chalice—essentially we define ourselves and shape what we consider of value when we come together for worship. Of course one of the things we value is each other. By our presence together in worship, we honor each other and the community.

The second path to meaningful membership is participation (beyond worship) in the life of the community. This is a way of taking ownership, of acknowledging that the community belongs to all of us. That we each have a share of responsibility for its survival and for its thriving. There are countless ways to do this. Teach Sunday school, be a greeter, cook for someone who is sick, drive the guys from room in the inn on a Friday night, plan a social event, join the choir, fill a guest at your table box, tutor at Fall Hamilton, clean up after a Wednesday dinner, volunteer in the office, sign up for dinners for nine, mentor a youth, edit the newsletter, take pictures for the web, plant some flowers, water some flowers, bring some flowers on a Sunday morning.

The third path to meaningful membership is through democratic participation. It is no accident that we are organized democratically. This is a direct reflection of our affirmation of the inherent worth and dignity of every person. When you are a member of this congregation your voice matters. You have the privilege to help us shape and realize our vision and mission. Without your participation in the decision making necessary to do this, we are less. The integrity of the congregation, and I believe the integrity of any individual’s membership depends on at least some level of participation in making decisions. This means that attending congregational meetings is important and that offering feedback is as well.

The fourth path to meaningful membership is through financial stewardship. A religious community is not a charity. To participate with integrity requires an investment—the things I’ve mentioned before are investments, but integrity also requires a financial investment. We ask that you consider pledging a percentage of your income each year. What you pledge will depend on your resources and your level of commitment. For some people a one percent pledge is a good place to begin. Others strive to contribute at a level of five percent or more. Some members are in transition and need to provide only minimal financial support for a period of time. As a religious community we want to be open to people during their times of transition. And, as a religious community, we want to help people give at a level that is appropriate and generous. There are few things that feel better than this kind of support for an institution that matters.

Finally, the fifth path toward meaningful membership is a commitment to our own spiritual growth. This may mean a consistent spiritual practice—like prayer, or meditation, or yoga, or walking, or journaling, or something else. It may mean attending religious education classes. It certainly means staying faithfully open to the possibility of growth and transformation in our lives. We are as strong and mature as a community as we are as individuals. The spiritual depth each of us cultivates in our personal lives is vital to the realization of religious community.

The strength of our association with one another does not come from a fortress of shared belief. We are strong together because we have agreed to walk a spiritual path together. All I mean by that is that by being here, we are agreeing to share the adventure of finding meaning and seeking ever deeper ways to live that meaning. I believe the five paths I have described are ways of enhancing our experience. I believe these things constitute some of the responsibility we have for each other in religious community.

I’ve heard from a few people in the last weeks about their understanding of membership in this community. Gail Sphar and June Dye were quick to point out that the responsibility goes both ways. Members have responsibilities—and so does the institution. That could be a sermon in itself. For now let me just say that I believe the board understands that it has a responsibility to provide a safe and open structure for people to participate fully. This structure includes at least worship, programs, pastoral ministry, and financial stewardship.

At the beginning of this sermon I said that as a member of this community I am nurtured and challenged. That’s what I hope for and expect here. To be nurtured when I am struggling. To know that here there are people who care for me and see my worth. And also, I hope and expect to be challenged to be more than I am. To continue growing in understanding and in living my values. I expect these things of the institution, of you, and of myself. This is how I would articulate the covenant we have with one another.

As I said, we are not made strong as a community by a fortress of beliefs. Our strength, in the liberal religious tradition, comes from the covenants we make with one another. The promises and commitments about how we will be together. Our explicit covenant appears as part of our mission and covenant statement:

We gather in safe and compassionate community, seeking our spiritual truths. We affirm our interdependence, celebrate our differences, and create a thoughtful and harmonious voice for liberal religion. Through the practice of the principles of our faith, we promote social, economic and environmental justice and continue our legacy of respect and acceptance. We covenant together in a spirit of love and freedom.

The promises and commitments we make with one another in this religious community express our best hope for what is possible in human community. And our best hope is often not realized. We are a human community. We sometimes get it wrong. Our covenant asks that we come back, again and again, seeking faithfully to live from the meaning and hope we have found here.

We do this not only for ourselves—we do it for those who came before us and those who will follow us. This community is a gift we receive from many who are gone. Like Avery Leiserson, who died last week. He was the first President of the Board of this congregation. For more than fifty years he came to worship, helped build and support the institution, participated joyfully in the democratic process here, financially supported the regular budget of the congregation and the building of this building, and he grew as a person, sharing his wisdom and honesty with all of us. Even those of you who never knew Avery receive the gifts he gave. One of the most precious gifts Avery leaves us is the opportunity to be a part of the tradition of liberal religion in Nashville. Not just for ourselves, but for those who, fifty years from now, will not know our names, but will receive our legacy of nurture and challenge.

Jace Burch said this another way. He wrote to me:

For me, membership in our church is like being a part of a family. A family I chose, and one in which I want to stay. We are devoted to our young and give them guidance and respect. We cherish and are nurtured by our seniors and their wealth of experience. And those of us in between are loving providers, workers, leaders, and listeners—aware that ours is but a time of transition between youth and elder. And this cycle repeats—in love.

Loving providers, workers, leaders, and listeners. For the sake of a community that matters. That has the capacity to carry us through our toughest times and to help us use our values to build a world with more love, more justice, more peace, more hope.

This is a place that has the potential to be like no other place in our lives. This community, with our care and tending, can be the touchstone for all the other parts of our lives. A place where we faithfully seek meaning. A place where we are loved and nurtured and where we love and nurture others. A place where we are challenged to be our best selves. A place where we are forgiven for not always being our best selves. John Mott told me that meaningful church membership has meant for him "discovering and exploring an entirely new area of living. Not one that excludes or diminishes the other areas like work or family or friends, but weaves strands throughout all of them, enriching and supporting them."

I spoke with a member this week who has been having a very difficult few months. She hasn’t been around much—yet I want you to know that you are a vital source of her strength right now. She knows what this community stands for. She knows that she is loved here. And that may well have been the thing that has helped her survive. You. Just being here. Doing whatever it is you do to support this community. You have saved her from despair and hopelessness.

For her, and for myself, I want to thank you. This is no small thing we are doing. Often, maybe most of the time, it involves the small things. Yet always, it comes down to the greatest things. Thank you.