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Mar. 23rd, 2003 05:47 pm
I do have one reservation, though: if this guy is supposedly so much like Jed Bartlet, why on earth are his supporters meeting on Wednesday nights? Don't they have to be home by nine?
Mar. 23rd, 2003
I do have one reservation, though: if this guy is supposedly so much like Jed Bartlet, why on earth are his supporters meeting on Wednesday nights? Don't they have to be home by nine?
Money and religion.
Mar. 23rd, 2003 10:33 pmUnitarian-Universalists suck at talking about money.
It's pretty much the last taboo for a religious movement in which sex and politics and blasphemy and heretical ideas are ordinary table topics. UUs don't want to talk about money. In particular, we don't want to talk about money at church. Asking for money is something that bad religions do.
Which is why I'm so nervous about the fact that sitting on my desk is a crisp blue folder containing the names of four UUs. I'm supposed to contact them and arrange a 30 to 45-minute home visit in which we will discuss (a) any questions from the recent congregational census that are of particular concern to them, (b) their views on the budget options, (c) their annual pledge. Yipe.
The reason we're pulling out all the stops and making individual home visits is that the church is nearly broke. We're a small urban congregation saddled with a large, old, historically important building. We've been operating with a budget deficit for the past several years, and our investment fund - which was never all that large, actually - is being rapidly depleted. The lousy state of the stock market hasn't helped. But it's also the case that a lot of members don't give as much as they could, and that some don't give anything at all.
All the money the church spends - for heat, salaries, charitable activity, roof repair, dues to the UUA - has to come directly from members' pockets, or from interest earned on money members have given in the past. We make a little money renting out our facilities for concerts and weddings, but in general, we have to come up with every penny we want to spend. Which means that people like me need to ask other people like me for money, however unpleasant a job it is. And which means, in this particular case, that I'll need to encourage people to give more than they did last year - or tell me what they're willing to see cut from a budget that's already been pared back considerably. It's going to be a hard thing to do.
But I need my church. I needed, today, to hear an inspiring sermon about choosing joy and life in a time of darkness. I needed to be reminded that spring came this week in the midst of war and anger and helplessness. I cried as we closed with This Is My Song, and the woman sitting next to me put her arms around me, and I needed both the tears and the embrace.
None of that could happen without money.
It's pretty much the last taboo for a religious movement in which sex and politics and blasphemy and heretical ideas are ordinary table topics. UUs don't want to talk about money. In particular, we don't want to talk about money at church. Asking for money is something that bad religions do.
Which is why I'm so nervous about the fact that sitting on my desk is a crisp blue folder containing the names of four UUs. I'm supposed to contact them and arrange a 30 to 45-minute home visit in which we will discuss (a) any questions from the recent congregational census that are of particular concern to them, (b) their views on the budget options, (c) their annual pledge. Yipe.
The reason we're pulling out all the stops and making individual home visits is that the church is nearly broke. We're a small urban congregation saddled with a large, old, historically important building. We've been operating with a budget deficit for the past several years, and our investment fund - which was never all that large, actually - is being rapidly depleted. The lousy state of the stock market hasn't helped. But it's also the case that a lot of members don't give as much as they could, and that some don't give anything at all.
All the money the church spends - for heat, salaries, charitable activity, roof repair, dues to the UUA - has to come directly from members' pockets, or from interest earned on money members have given in the past. We make a little money renting out our facilities for concerts and weddings, but in general, we have to come up with every penny we want to spend. Which means that people like me need to ask other people like me for money, however unpleasant a job it is. And which means, in this particular case, that I'll need to encourage people to give more than they did last year - or tell me what they're willing to see cut from a budget that's already been pared back considerably. It's going to be a hard thing to do.
But I need my church. I needed, today, to hear an inspiring sermon about choosing joy and life in a time of darkness. I needed to be reminded that spring came this week in the midst of war and anger and helplessness. I cried as we closed with This Is My Song, and the woman sitting next to me put her arms around me, and I needed both the tears and the embrace.
None of that could happen without money.