Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
March 7, 2004
Reading:
From
Tao Te Ching
by Lao-tzu, translated by Stephen Mitchell
Fill your bowl to the brim and
it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people’s approval and you will be their prisoner.
Do your work, then step back. The only path to serenity.
Some say that my teaching is nonsense. Others call it lofty
but impractical.
But to those who have looked inside themselves, this nonsense makes perfect
sense.
And to those who put it into practice, this loftiness has roots that go deep.
I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, compassion.
These three are your greatest treasures.
Simple in actions and in thoughts, you return to the source of being.
Patient with both friends and enemies, you accord with the way things are.
Compassionate with yourself, you reconcile all beings in the world.
Sermon:
Carl Scovel told his
parishioners a few years back at King’s Chapel, “If someone in the next century
wanted to know who we were, she could read our letters and our diaries… our
obituaries, report cards, and job evaluations. But if she wanted to know what we
valued, I think she’d have to find our checkbooks.”
I think Carl is exactly right. What do we truly value? Just
look and see to where our money goes? So as a church that is about helping
people bring their values into accord with their daily lives, the most obvious
topic for us to address is money, the power it can hold over us, and how we can
transcend that power so as to have money serve us. There is only one catch. We
as a culture hate talking about money. It gets too close to the bone to discuss
with one another how we rank with our own spending habits.
It’s hard to talk about money openly and honestly. Report
after report says that there is no greater taboo in American society than money.
Why is money so hard to talk about? Because when we talk about money we aren’t
ever talking about just money. Most of us have anxieties around how much we earn
compared to others—and how much we give compared to others. Many of us deal with
unresolved shame about our relationship to money. We don't want to be judged for
what we have or don't have. It is a part of being human to be prone to the
powerful grip of the money taboo.
Dan Hotchkiss is a Unitarian Universalist congregational
consultant that works for the Alban Institute. In a recent issue of our
denominational magazine, the UU World, he challenges congregations to
talk about money. He says, “Money is a spiritual challenge. It arouses great
depths of passion in us and requires the best of us in moral reasoning and
courage. Money is a medium of power through which we act and are acted upon. A
spiritual life that does not concern itself with money can have little effect on
our daily lives, especially in a culture as saturated by financial forces as
ours.”
There’s a story of a preacher with a tight-fisted
congregation who launched her canvass with the statement, “I have good news and
bad news about our financial well-being. The good news is we have all the money
for all we want to do, the bad news is that money is still in your pocketbooks!”
This congregation has stepped up its generosity in recent years that there’s
much to proud of. I have some good news and some bad news. I’ll give you the bad
news first. That is, For our spiritual well-being, it behooves us to
consistently re-engage questions of money and how it can serve us or fetter us
as individuals and as a community. The good news is that I will preach only one
canvass sermon each year.
It is tricky and subtle how our relationship to money
relates to our spiritual well-being. Every religious tradition has its own
stories and teachings in regard to the subject. Here is an old Kurdish tale:
A man was sitting on a rock, overlooking the ocean. Next
to him was a case filled with gold coins. The man picked up a coin, studied
it, and then threw it into the ocean. He picked out another coin, turned it
over in his hand, and flung it into the sea.
A holy man was passing by, and stopped to look. After
seeing a good amount of gold disappear into the sea, he approached the man and
said, “What is this?”
“A case of gold,” the man answered.
“But what are you doing? He asked.
I’m throwing it into the ocean.”
“What do you want to do that for?”
“I am practicing non-attachment,” he replied calmly.
“Then why don’t you just dump them all in at once?” asked the holy man.
“Oh no,” he said. “This attachment I have, it needs to be struggled with a
hundred thousand times.”
I know that kind of attachment. It goes way back for me.
I was one of those kids who after Halloween and Easter
socked the majority of my candy into a bag and put in the freezer. Over weeks
and months, I would take a little bit out but most of it stayed right there. My
rationale was that I wanted to enjoy every last morsel, and I wanted to make it
last. The irony was that when Easter came, I usually still had Halloween candy.
And Easter candy usually needed to get thrown out come the fall to make room for
the new Halloween candy!
As I grew up, I related to money in similar ways. I socked
it away and let it gather. There were great benefits. When I wanted to buy
something like a stereo of my very own, I could. I usually had more than I
really needed. It never dawned on me that part of what I earned, received, or
happened by could and should go to someone other than me, especially if I claim
to hold the values of generosity, kindness, and justice. During my first years
out of college, I lived like a monk. The first room I rented was for $125 which
held not much more than a mattress. In Berkeley, for $170 a month, I rented a
small room underneath a staircase. For six months, I had no bed. I gladly slept
in my sleeping bag on the thin carpet. I drove an old Honda Civic and rode my
bike everywhere. I became a master of eating cheaply. Even though I made hardly
more than a thousand dollars a month, I was saving money! In fact, I had money
to share, but the reality was, I didn’t want to part with any of it if I didn’t
have to.
Shortly after graduating from college, I was asked if I
would contribute to my alma mater? Given that I went to an expensive liberal
arts college, my answer was initially, “Are you crazy? I have already given
thousands upon thousands of dollars.” I had no concept that I could help make it
possible for people coming after me, just as generations before me did.
I remember another time I was asked to give to Amnesty
International. Their work was important to me, but I didn’t want to give too
much but then again I didn’t want to give too little. It was a big step for me
to agree to give $3 a month to be paid directly from my account. But I wondered
late at night whether I ought to be giving more, whether political prisoners
weren’t being released because I, a stingy little American, didn’t want to give
too much. I just didn’t know what was an appropriate amount and didn’t take the
time to figure that out for myself.
It is an essential part of the spiritual journey to deal
with such questions. Those who suddenly find themselves with considerably more
money than they had previously are suddenly faced with real spiritual and
ethical problems. Jacob Needleman, a philosopher of religion, has studied people
who suddenly deal with sudden large increases in their wealth. He writes that
“if you are a worrier when you are poor, you will be a worrier when you are
rich.”
Having money does not change how we feel inside. Needleman
says that people who win the lottery often go crazy. Those who stayed stable
were those with strong ethical and religious lives, those who have a sense that
there is something more important than money.
The Dalai Lama said a few years back that he was astounded
at how low the average American’s self-esteem was, compared to that of a
Tibetan. The Tibetans have lost their homeland, all kinds of horrors have
happened to them, and yet many Tibetans demonstrate a vibrancy and clarity and
alertness and vigor. They have very little in the way of material possessions,
but much in the way of wisdom and joy.
It is as if many of us Americans are under a spell that
emotionally stunts us. The love of money and the fear of not having enough are
powerful forces. These forces can take a hold of our lives, such that we are
held hostage to our fears and assumptions—without us even consciously knowing
that we are spiritually stunted.
I find it striking that Jesus spoke of money five times
more frequently than he did of prayer. The way we use money or let it use us is
integral to the spiritual life. I know that some people among us view money as
evil, a necessary evil. However, I think Jesus had it right. He didn’t say that
money is the source of all evil. He said that it is the love of money that is
the source of all evil. Money itself is just a tool which can be used to serve
us. The lure of money and what it can buy can be so powerful that our very
identities get consumed by it.
I learned a great lesson when I was asked for money at the
First Unitarian Church of Oakland. There was a face to face pledge that year. I
can remember vividly Jay Roller approaching me after a service. Jay, a fellow
member of the choir, asked me if I had a few minutes. His smile and gentle touch
put me at ease. He explained to me that the church ran on congregational
support. He had graphs and tables for me to look at. He said, “If you give at
least 2% of your yearly income to the church, you will be giving your fair
share.” If we all give our fair share, then we can see our church thrive. I knew
that some people were giving a lot more than me and giving considerably more
than 2%, but it put me at ease knowing that there was a way to determine whether
my support was adequate—as a simple fraction of my income.
By the time I graduated from seminary, I valued the
education so much that I immediately began giving the school a percentage of my
income despite student loan payments. Finally I was learning to give to
institutions I believed in. But I still hadn’t learned how to ask for money.
Asking for money is so much harder than simply talking about it. During my last
year of seminary, I participated in the California AIDS Ride and bicycled from
San Francisco to Los Angeles. The catch was that every rider was required to
raise at least $2,500. I had mixed emotions as I received financial support. A
fellow seminarian struggling to support his family sponsored me for $100. I felt
ashamed to receive such a generous gift from him, because I didn’t think I would
be as generous if I was in his position. On the other hand, it was difficult not
to be disappointed when receiving far lesser amounts from people I knew had far
more means. The way most riders raised such money was by hosting a party during
which an outside speaker would give the ask. I decided to join the speaker’s
bureau to be one of those volunteers that attended parties to do this ask. I
visited people’s homes and businesses and had an emotionally charged spiel. I
enjoyed it—especially when someone responded with a gift of $500 or $1000.
However, I chalked up my success to being a stranger. It was easy to ask people
I didn’t know for money. It was far more difficult to ask for and receive money
from friends—because of the money taboo.
I’d be lying to you if I told you that I don’t wrestle with
attachments with my own money. But what it comes down to for me is the
recognition that giving is a spiritual practice. It is a spiritual discipline
for me to tithe. I believe it is not only an ethical stance to give 10 percent
of my income to institutions and charities I believe in, but it also is an
essential part of my spiritual walk to cultivating a grateful heart. Sometimes
it feels great. Sometimes it is a real stretch. Sometimes I just have to laugh
because of how quickly I give a considerable gift. But it is something I do,
because I know that spiritual depth comes with intentional practice—and I as a
human being need such a practice to overcome my own attachments to money.
Fundamentalist fundraisers often say, “You’re never going
to have enough money till you tithe. Because once you start tithing, you will
find out that you have enough to do what you want.” That may be true, but I
believe the road to freedom from the money taboo isn’t as simple as persuading
oneself to give a percentage of one’s income away. It requires honest
self-reflection about one’s own values. Tithing can be a step toward freedom,
but if resentment, shame, and anxiety constantly lift their heads within our
psyches and chew us up inside, that isn’t the same as reaching freedom. Moving
toward freedom requires us to taking steps to regarding money as a tool that we
are empowered to use, and then engaging in the spiritual practice of giving, and
finally to reach a sustaining joy or sense of satisfaction that you are
consciously choosing to create good in the world by contributing to what you
truly value.
Cultivating a generous heart is not a for once and for all
act or gift. It is a practice, a process that calls for re-visiting questions of
our most cherished ideals and how we are contributing to them so as to make them
a reality. We cannot separate the spiritual from the financial in our private
lives, or in our relationship with our congregation. As in the words of Jesus,
“where your treasure is, there your heart will be, also.”
If you want to intentionally confront the money taboo
within your own life, I suggest the four following steps:
-
write down your expenses for a month and see where your
money is going
-
reflect on the history of your relationship to money
-
talk to someone you trust about how money can be a tool
-
give to the organizations you believe in, with a goal of
giving 10% of your earnings away to organizations that promote your values.
Now I want to ask the question that begs to be asked. What
should you pledge to this congregation? My response is, pledge what will bring a
great big smile on your face when you think about this congregation and what it
means to you. When I challenged a previous congregation I served, one young man
came to me and said, “You know I was thinking of pledging between one and two
thousand dollars. But for me, I can do that with all in one check and never have
to think about my relationship to this congregation again until next year. I
realize that for me to smile and smile big when I walk into our worship
services, I need to give $10,000.” What a realization, what a shattering of the
money taboo, to say I want to be reminded each time I send in my monthly pledge
what this congregation means to us.
As you consider your pledge for the coming fiscal year, I
invite you to ask yourself, “What does this congregation mean to you? How do you
want to invest in it? How has your faith deepened here? How has your life been
influenced by this congregation, its community and its ministry? How big do you
want to smile when you come into worship each Sunday you attend?”
May we cultivate generosity in our hearts and in the world.
Amen.
© Copyright 2004 Alan C.
Taylor, All Rights Reserved.
