Sermon on the Amount ’02

I go to the car dealership to see about whether to buy out my lease or try to finance a newer, safer car. I tell them I need figures before I can make any decisions and that affordability is my central issue. I tell them I have come to them to get information, and I need the information to start with.

They spend an hour telling me why I should give up my current leased car, why it is not worth it to keep it, why the new cars are so much better. They do this without ever giving me any information, without giving me details about the new car I am considering, without giving me any figures, without telling me that I will save $1600 if I do keep my current car by buying out my lease.

They spend another hour test-driving my current car to determine its trade-in value, and getting me to agree to finance a new car if they can get me terms I can afford. They get me to agree to this, still without having given me any figures. They ask me to agree to do the deal that day and tell me they are sure we can come to some agreement. They still have given me no figures, and not told me how the lease buyout might work because they tell me it's not worth it. They point out that I said affordability was the issue, and if they can find a way for me to afford the new car, why would I want to hang onto the old one? I tell them I don't have a lot of money and so I need to establish the best option for myself financially, which is why I am concerned that I need to keep my current car. They reassure me that I need a new car, and promise to find some way for me to buy it.

I tell them I have an appointment, which is true, and will have to go soon. They tell me my car is still out on the test drive, but it will be back soon. It is not back soon. Now I am late. I tell them that I have to go and I need my car. They assure me it will be back soon and ask me to begin to talk about buying a car that they don't have yet, but will have any day—will I commit to buy it? I tell them I don't know, I have to talk to my family. They ask me to call my family from the dealership. I do, but they're not home—thank goodness. Finally my car returns. The finance manager comes out to talk to me along with the salesman and they continue our conversation about the car that isn't there yet, that I haven't seen and don't know what it looks like or all the features it comes with, will I commit to buy it? I tell them I appreciate their time, and I'm very interested but I'm late and must go. They ask me to come back after and I tell them I can't but I will try to come back the next day.

I drive away and go to my appointment at the church with our office administrator. After the meeting as I go through my day and talk to my family in the evening I realize what actually happened at the dealership. I almost bought a car I knew nothing about and feared I couldn't afford. It all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time—why was I so miserable while I was there? Why did I feel I was escaping as I drove away? Why haven't I gone back to tell them I've decided firmly to buy out my lease and arrange the financing? Why haven't I returned their many, many calls?

As I told the story to people close to me, I realized what the answer is to all those questions. A car dealership is the opposite of church. Their bottom line is not me, it is my money. They are not there to serve me, they are there to live off me. They do not care about me or my life or my well being, they care about what I can pay them. They will not do their best for me. They are not there to help me or others. They are there to get the most they can from me. If Unitarian Universalists do go to hell, I wouldn't be entirely surprised to find it filled not with flames and beseeching cries, but large glass windows and muzak, spotless automobiles and men in dress pants who endlessly go to talk to their manager and never listen and never give in and point out where in the car I can put my purse.

As my mother told me after I went and had my first challenging visit to a car dealer many years ago, "Lizzie, this is not an I-Thou relationship!" She was referring to the religious philosopher Martin Buber's theory that there are two primary, dialogic relationships in the world—one is the mundane, "I-It" type where we objectify the thing or person we are relating to. It has no reality to us, only we have reality. The other is what Buber calls "I-Thou." In this relationship, a profound relationship, the other thing or person has deep reality to us, they are as real to us as we are, as precious to us as we ourselves are, or sometimes even more than we are. In the I-Thou relationship, we honor the other, care about understanding them, feel responsibility toward them and interdependence with them.

We are part of a democratic and capitalist society, which holds that the combination of democracy and capitalism creates the most good for the most people. That may be true—it seems true not in comparison to our ideals but to many other systems around the world, at least so far as the people within our own nation are concerned. Nonetheless, it is also still a deeply flawed system, not least because it holds that the values of business, making a profit, undercutting the competition, charging the most you can get for what you offer, inviting customers into debt, and so on, are not only legitimate, but even, on some level, ethical.

The ethics of the system are obviously debatable, but they surround us and they are the reality with which we all must deal. Well, they surround us, and are the reality with which we must all deal everywhere but here. Part of what makes this community precious, and powerful, is that this is a place defined differently.

"legwn oti ouk ek crhmatwn areth gignetai, all'ex areths crimata kai ta alla agaqa tois antqrwpois apanta kai idia kai dhmosia."

"And I tell you that from money, virtue does not come, but from virtue comes money and all other good things to man, both to the individual and to the state."

Socrates said that. He's not known as an economist, but he did have this understanding of economic philosophy: Virtue does not come from money, but money comes from virtue. Sometime soon I need to go back and re-read the context within which this insight comes, but it doesn't matter this morning. What matters this morning is that he was, is, right. The car dealership is one example of his rightness, and our church is another.

At this church people are the bottom line, each of us, and people in our community and our country and across the world from us. We are all here to serve each other and the world. We care about each other and life and justice, not even just as values in themselves but also because they are essential to providing for the nurture of a person's spirit, of all souls. We do our best for each other. We are here to help ourselves and others. We are here to give the most we can. If Unitarian Universalists do go to heaven, I wouldn't be surprised to find it not a gated community, filled with clouds and harps and perfect beings, but a congregation where people inspire each other and lift each other, beautiful spaces for prayer and service and play, where every sermon is great and hard, but not too hard to write, every intergenerational service is truly wonderful for all ages, and pets are members too. And we all tell each other how glad we are that each other is here. And we never have to pledge, 'cause it's heaven after all and in heaven, money isn't currency, it's just art. If heaven has a currency, it must be goodwill, and that's what we pledge, as much as we have to give and that's all it takes to get things done.

Goodwill does a lot even on this mortal plane—more things are done in and by this marvelous congregation with goodwill as the currency than you would believe. But this isn't heaven, and so goodwill isn't enough for us to serve and thrive in this capitalist democracy. Money does not define this church or our values, but it does absolutely define how committed we are to our values and to this community as the place where we live them out.

Each year, this church writes a good bit of my annual canvass kickoff sermon for me. After the canvass sermon last year, when I read Jesus' promises in the beatitudes and did a Unitarian Universalist interpretation of them, I got an email from a newer friend, now a member, of the congregation. She wrote a comment with a suggestion and I asked her to remind me this fall, when I'd be looking vainly for my notes for this year's canvass sermon—and you know what? She re-sent it to me a few weeks ago. Here is what she wrote:

...Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. We expect a lot from our church. I see this more and more the more I am involved. RE, grounds, special services, all the regular services that happen every week. And it takes people to do these things. I see it in RE, with so many dedicated people working to make it happen and happen just right. I saw it yesterday, as John Sullivan showed up to mow the grass. Amazing. We couldn't do it without people putting their heart in it. Anyway...When you read the passage from Matthew, I thought you were heading for Matthew 6:19-21. (It's just as well you're not so predictable.) Because I memorized the King James version as a child, I recite it in my head as follows:

'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and dust doth corrupt, and where thieves break in and steal; But lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven, where neither moth nor dust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal; For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'

It's the last part that I've found so meaningful in my own life. It was Jesus' way of saying put your money where your mouth is. Or if you really believe it, then finance it. It's the same thing public radio is always trying to tell us. And personal finance managers when they tell us to prioritize, to put your money where your heart is (children's college, charities, etc). To me it says, if you care about it, invest in it. That's why I contribute to the church.

—Rebecca Wilson Kopatich

Need I say more? If you really believe in our faith, if you really care about this congregation, finance it. Put your money where your heart is. Our church may not quite be heaven, but it is a haven. It is a haven for all of us who have already found it, and for those who have not yet found it, who are coming for the first time in November or for Christmas or Passover or next May, who will need a place to park, a place to sit, time with the minister or director of religious education, who will listen to our ASL interpreter rather than my voice, who will add their voices to our choir, their time and creativity to our social action work, their teaching to our Sunday School, their wisdom and life experience and strength to an Inreach group, or one-on-one over a cup of coffee with another of us who has just been diagnosed with something serious.

This church is growing in so many ways on so many levels; it's a challenge to keep up. But it's the best challenge any of us can have. Lest I be compared to a car salesman, let me point out that though I'm not giving you the figures, the budget figures and goals for this pledge drive, as well as specific rationales for those goals, are very available to all of us. We've had one informational meeting already, the canvass mailing contains more details, and they will also be available at canvass socials or from your canvasser. What our pledge drive and its goals add up to is our belief in our meaning in the world, our capacity to grow that meaning, to change the world, to help others and ourselves. These are testified to not only by our achievements up to now, but also by the enthusiasm that is tangible here, and by the people joining us, who have faith in us, and wish to become part of what we are.

I am so glad you are all here. We are lucky to have each other. Mindful of our wish to live in deep commitment to our highest values, may we pledge all the goodwill and all the financial support we can for the coming church year. This is an I-Thou relationship. To each other here, we are all I and Thou. Together, may this extraordinary faith community advance on the course we see before us. May we grow as richly as we give, and may we be helped ourselves even as we work to help the world.

Amen.