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A few weeks ago I had the privilege of attending a three-day advocacy camp conducted by the Children’s Alliance. The camp was designed to equip and empower us to advocate for policies and programs that will enhance and protect the lives of children in our state. Out of thirty-five campers, I was one of three males. Most of the campers were women who either were professionals in fields related to the well-being of children or were working mothers concerned about their own kids. For me, the stories of the mothers were what made our work at the camp particularly meaningful and real.
The dominant concern at the camp was the threat of state cutbacks in a time of budget tightening, and the stories of the mothers made the potential consequences of such actions stark and affecting. The issues discussed were no longer theoretical. They were determining factors in whether the children of these mothers would continue to have healthy and secure lives.
At the camp, it wasn’t long before we encountered in our discussions what was perhaps the thorniest and most frustrating problem we faced: the sense that we were fighting other great and worthwhile causes for a slice of our state’s shrinking revenue pie. This issue was all the more pressing because, as many of you know, proposals that would cause our collective pie to either shrink or grow were the dominant theme of the propositions on the ballot this past week. Amid the ad nauseam of election ads and pre-recorded phone messages, what especially bothered me this election season was the tendency to focus on the propositions not in terms of our collective pie, a pie from which we all benefit, but instead in terms of how a particular tax might affect one’s own individual wallet. With this kind of mindset, one no longer thinks about the disabled child and her mother down the street. One only thinks about one’s self in very narrow terms.
As depressing as the subject of our state’s collective pie might be, this morning I want to share with you some sources of hope that I have recently found. One source of hope is the story of a unique non-profit organization. The story begins in 1984 when Billy Shore, an aide to a US Senator, was reading the Washington Post. Shore had come across an article that rattled his moral compass. Tucked in the corner of a page was a small article with the headline “200,000 to Die This Summer in Ethiopia.” The number was shocking to Shore, and it motivated him to work with others to start a relief effort called Share Our Strength. Shore says that the core idea of Share Our Strength is essentially “a spiritual idea.” It’s the idea “that everybody has a strength to share, everybody has a gift of some type, and if we can tap into that, if we can create vehicles [through] which people can contribute whatever their unique talent or gift is, then that can change the world.”
The organization sought to facilitate contributions to the fight against hunger that were not about simply writing a check or even donating food but were about people “sharing their strengths, doing what they do best.” One of the ways they did this was by organizing chefs whose talent and strength is their cooking. Great chefs throughout the country began cooking samples at food and wine events called Taste of the Nation. Through these events about $4.5 million has been raised each year with all the money going to charitable uses. According to Shore, one of the values of this approach is that it doesn’t involve people fighting for a piece of the pie whether it is the government’s pie or a foundation’s pie. Instead, this approach seeks to expand the pie.
Shore is one of the first to admit that the battle against hunger is far from being won and that the problem of hunger has actually gotten worse. Still, he notes that there has been “a major unsung victory.” It’s the creation of a “network of food banks and emergency feeding assistance programs that did not exist twenty five years ago.” Throughout the country, there are church basements and food banks like FISH that are apart of this vital and effective network. As a result of the network, today “there is a place for [almost] every hungry American…to get food assistance.” Shore thus asserts that “stage one of the battle” against hunger “has been won.” Now it’s time for the second stage in which our ultimate goal is to get people “in a position where they don’t have to apply for food assistance in the first place.”
An interesting thing about Shore is that one of his hobbies is to study the history behind the building of famous cathedrals. He once visited a cathedral in Milan that “took 513 years to build.” It involved the labor of “tens of thousands of people.” Shore observes that almost all of these laborers could have counted on one thing with certainty: “they would not see their work finished in their lifetime.” Nevertheless, that didn’t keep them from dedicating the best of their talents and energies to their craft. For Shore, building a cathedral is like the fight against hunger. We might not see world hunger end during our own lifetime, but we can still contribute the best of what we have to offer. We can establish the foundation from which others can build.
For us as a church, the metaphor of building a cathedral hits close to home in another way and the great blessing for us is that today we get to see the fruits of all our contributions. (Point to the skylight). Let’s give ourselves a round of applause… Let this stained glass be a reminder of what can happen when a group of people care enough to contribute to a collective pie from which we all benefit.
Now, if this isn’t enough inspiration, I’ve got more for you. Our scripture reading this morning is about Aaron doing what probably was a thankless task. While Moses was getting all the glory leading the Israelites to the promised land, Aaron was doing the quiet job of making sure the lamp stayed lit in front of the most sacred place in their camp, the holy of holies, the place where they stored the ark, what our translation this morning calls the box of the covenant. This was the place where the Israelites believed the actual presence of God resided. For them, this behind the scenes task of keeping the lamp lit throughout the night was what literally kept the presence of God visible to them at all times.
Today, we no longer think of God’s presence being confined to a physical location like the ark, but I think we still have our Aarons, people who keep the lamp lit, and just about all of you do this. Pull out the insert in your bulletin. Look at all those names of people who have in some way contributed to the church by serving as stewards of our grounds and facilities. Can I have everyone who is listed underneath the heading “caretakers of the grounds” stand up as you are able? Stay standing (and let’s hold our applause until the end). Can I have everyone who is listed under the category of building maintenance stand up? Can I have everyone who assisted with church cleaning and organizing stand up? Let’s have not just Dorothy and Shirl stand but anyone who has ever been to a church-cleaning day. Can I have everyone involved in liturgical arts stand up? Can I have everyone who participated in a paint crew this past year stand up? Can I have everyone who helped with the community garden stand up? And, finally, can I have everyone stand up who was accidentally forgotten by your lousy pastor? For all you Aarons and Aaronnesses, let’s have a round of applause? You may be seated.
Our church is full of people who care about our collective pie, who care about making their contribution, who care enough to share their strengths, talents, and time. Our church is full of people who keep the lamp lit so that all of us can see the presence of God in this sacred space we call our church. Maybe I shouldn’t preach anymore this stewardship season. All of you are the sermon…and to that sermon, I give a resounding “Amen.”