Charismata

". . .gifts in differing measure, hearts of one accord. . . ." -Frederick Lucien Hosmer, from "Forward Through the Ages"

You may have noticed a theme emerging from this year’s stewardship efforts. That theme is gifts. All of us have them. Not all of us use them. But let us explore this theme a little more deeply.

You might also have noticed over the years that I like to resurrect old words and concepts and to try to breathe new life into them: words like "acedia," and, this morning, "charismata."

Now I know where the word "charisma" comes from. Some of us have it, and some of us don’t. But all of us have "charismata," which the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, one of my favorite resources for obscure and esoteric information about all things church-related, defines as "The blessings, spiritual and temporal, bestowed on [everyone] for the due fulfillment of his [or her] vocation." (Well, actually, it says on "every Christian," but I took the liberty of changing that.)

In the New Testament’s first epistle to the Corinthians, the charismata are described by St. Paul as "the word of wisdom, the word of knowledge, faith, the gifts of healing, working of miracles, prophecy, discerning of spirits, tongues, and the interpretation of tongues," plus gifts of teaching and administration, and, not least, of "almsgiving," which I translate liberally as "generosity."

We don’t do a lot of speaking in tongues around here, one might say gratefully. Or maybe not! We have been known to work a few miracles, and I have discovered over the years that our congregation contains ample resources of wisdom, knowledge, faith, and healing. On occasion we have risen to the heights of prophecy--not as often, I know, as some of you would like. We have wonderful teachers in our midst, on a variety of subjects essential to living a good life, and a few capable administrators, and we have an awful lot of very generous people: people generous, as I like to say, with "their time, their talent, and their treasure."

"Gifts in differing measure," as Frederick Lucian Hosmer wrote in his great Unitarian hymn, "Forward Through the Ages." And, often, or at least often enough over the years to keep us keeping on, "hearts of one accord." But not, alas, always.

The "discerning of spirits" gift is a little tougher to get a handle on. I don’t know why a lot of you, individually, come here, though I can speculate. A few have mentioned the building--actually, more than a few have mentioned the building--and a few, I suppose, come for the minister, a true demonstration of the gift of faith, though not necessarily of the gift of wisdom. More than a few, I hope, come for our Unitarian Universalist faith, with its proud past, its ever hopeful future, and, we trust, its nurturing and sustaining present. You come for our free and mostly rational approach to religious questions, and for our tolerance of differing religious points of view.

You come because you have never been able to avoid the questions, and, admit it, you come because you are a bit of a heretic, and are proud of it. You come because you want to do something that will make a difference in and to our troubled world, and because you feel an obligation to give something back.

A lot of you come for the sense of community that you have found here. You come here for religious education for your children. You come here for religious education for yourselves. You come here for music, either to appreciate it, or to participate in it. You come because your husband or wife or partner or parents came here before you. You come because you are in a mixed marriage, or because you are in a mixed-up marriage. You come because this is a refuge from the cacophony of religious conservatism. You come for silence, and you come for the words which break the silence.

You come because you are lonely, and you come to be alone. You come because you have suffered a loss, and you want to be made whole again, or because you have had a child, and you need a place to go with all of your hopes, fears, and dreams. You come because you are gay or lesbian and we actually welcome that. You come because you are an extrovert who loves large groups of people, and you come because you are an introvert who would rather do just about anything than make small talk with strangers. A few of you come because you actually like church, odd as that may seem.

You come, let’s face it, because there is no place else for you to go. Even with all of our imperfections, you keep coming, because there is something here that draws you. I know that. But what it is that brings any particular one of you is often a mystery to me.

What I do know is that you come bearing gifts. Unfortunately, we don’t always get to see them. But when we do. When we do, it is a thing of beauty, which is a joy forever, as the poet Keats famously said. Sometimes, you come bearing gifts you didn’t even know you had. But we’ll find ‘em! Sometimes, we even help people to develop their gifts.

Sometimes, too, I know, we take advantage of those gifts, and we have been known to burn out more than a few of you. Gifts are like cards: you have to know when to hold them, and when to fold them. In other words, you need to learn to say "no."

A couple of weeks ago I spoke to you on the subject of "what matters." Today I would add that what matters is that you make use of the gifts each of you has been given. I know a little about this, because I grew up with a father who, for whatever reason, was never able to make good use of his gifts. I suspect that it was in part the tragedy of watching that waste of human potential that drove me toward whatever modest use of my own gifts I have managed over the years. There is nothing sadder than to see a person fail to use his or her gifts. And, believe me, the world desperately needs our gifts, each and every one of them.

For me, the word "stewardship" encompasses all of the gifts that we bring to this place. It is about how best to manage all of these gifts. It is not just about money--though that is important, indeed, essential, to our continued existence as the First Religious Society in Newburyport. As Sylvia Howe has written in words we used on this year’s canvass brochure, "Stewardship is not about begging for money. On the contrary, the annual stewardship drive is a gift. It provides us with an opportunity to reflect upon the importance that our faith, our congregation, and our church have in our lives and how we choose to steward our financial resources." And, I might add, how we choose to steward our human resources.

I am the first to admit that this is not a perfect institution. I know that we make mistakes, because I am one of the people who routinely makes them. I know that we occasionally break, rather than mend, hearts. Not often, perhaps, but even one time is too many. I know that we could be doing more to change the world for the better. But for all of the reasons that we come to this place, I still think that it is well worth our support. We are not gods, after all, at least I’m not. We will never get it perfectly right. But I know that we have the capacity to change lives, or at least to make a difference in them. I know that this is an important place, a place which holds all of our precious gifts, gifts of life and love and friendship and service. It is a place well worth our love, our care, and even, or especially, our money.

I think that one of the best testimonials about church life that I have ever read was written by Denise Davidoff, a former Moderator of the Unitarian Universalist Association, the highest office to which a volunteer can aspire in our Association. Denny, as she is familiarly known, and her husband Jerry are two of the most generous people, in terms of their time, talent, and treasure, that I have ever known. Here’s what Denny wrote about her experiences with their church, which she and Jerry joined in 1960:

We have, like so many of you, done it all. We have taught 7th graders about Jesus, staying one gospel ahead of the students. We have been canvassers and nominators and board members. We have brought tons of potluck salads, main dishes, desserts and d’oeuvres. We have been in the "in" crowd. And we have been on the outs, daring to defend the grungy youth group in the early 70’s when the Board voted to disband them. . . . We have loved and loathed. We have fought some good fights and initiated some good practices. We have let our passions get the better of us. I have, I confess, stalked out of church on at least three occasions and vowed to never set foot in the damn place again.

But, she continues, I’ll tell you what we have always done. Consistently. Pledged and paid. Pledged and paid. . . . What I know, what I hope you know bone deep [is that] there is no one but us. No one to keep Unitarian Universalism alive and flourishing but us.

But like my friend Denny Davidoff, I keep coming back. And like Denny, I keep on pledging and paying, pledging and paying, because ultimately I believe that the church is far more important than my frustration and disappointment. The church is much larger than me and my issues. The church matters.

I know that not all of us can afford to give a lot to the church, but all of us can give something. Over the years Sabrina and I have made our pledge to the church, through good times and bad, until it has become habit forming. We treat our pledge just like the electric bill: we just pay it. Yes, we would sometimes like to spend the money on something else. No, the church hasn’t always met our particular needs, or met them as well as it might. But for all of the reasons I have enumerated this morning, we continue to support it through thick and thin. We give what we can of our time, talent, and treasure. We do it because it matters in as many ways as there are people here on any given Sunday morning. It is our gift to something that transcends ourselves, no matter how well or how poorly it is performing at any given moment. We give because we are the only ones who are going to keep this place afloat, this place for our "thirsty, longing spirits," as our former student minister Frank Clarkson once preached. We give because of all of you, and because of all of the gifts that you bring to this place. Your charismata. I hope that during this present stewardship drive, you will, too.

May we all make the best of the gifts we have been given. And may we go forth on this day grateful for the greatest gift, which is life itself. Amen.

The Rev. Harold E. Babcock