Commitment versus Generosity

Nate looked at his watch as he walked through the Gathering Space toward the parking lot. Seven-Thirty and the light outside faded slowly toward evening. The Stewardship Committee meeting ended promptly on time – a rare occurrence. He was the last to leave.

For Nate, three places at the church were his favorites: the Labyrinth, the Memorial Garden, and the Nave. Each of them said so much about this place.

The Labyrinth felt like his own journey—growing up, leaving home to study in a different part of the country, meeting his partner, losing his father, and having a son of his own. Circle upon circle often doubling back upon itself. One way in. One way out. Whenever he saw someone walking the Labyrinth’s winding circuit, he felt a kinship with them, knowing that everyone’s path held its own twists and turns.

The Memorial Garden spoke of the church’s future shaped by its past. Located at the heart of the church campus, like a mother cradling her children, the Garden was the resting place of those who came before—people who, as his parents often said, made all that happened at Church possible by showing up and giving of themselves. For them, the Church was where they placed their treasure, their “God Box.”

Then there is the Nave. His dad always said, “Nate, when you’re in a church look up. Doesn’t it look like the bottom of a boat? That’s why it’s called a Nave, in Latin it means ‘boat’.” His dad would add, “It helps us remember we are all on this voyage together.” Nate once asked him, “Why don’t we just call it ‘the boat’?” His dad smiled, “We’re Episcopalian, son. We love our Latin and Nave just sounds better, don’t you think.”

Standing in the Nave, Nate noticed the light shifting. It felt odd. The pews were gone, and the amazing organ sat silent. The Altar was missing, and the only light came from the fading remnants of sun shining through the skylights. Yet, the Triptych still hung on the west wall with the Transfigured Christ seemingly glowing in the last of the day’s light. He looked up—the roof indeed looked like the bottom of a boat, just as his father had described. Nate knew that in a few months the emptiness would be transformed: new pews would be installed, the Altar would return, the dim light would be replaced with something brighter, and the people would fill the space once again. Whether walking life’s Labyrinth, resting in the Garden, or filling the entrance to the Nave with laughter, these people had done so much to make all this happen. When he and his partner first started attending, they often remarked how generous and giving the people of this place were.

Nate and the Stewardship Committee were grappling with how to help those new to this church family understand what so many others already knew—the role of pledging versus giving, commitment beyond just generosity. He recalled his father’s words about the image of the boat. “It helps us remember that we are all on this voyage together.”

Not long after the conversation with his mom about God and money, Nate had asked his dad about giving to the church. His father’s answer made more sense now than it did at the time. “Nate,” his dad said, “throughout life, you’ll be asked to support things important to you. At church, we give in many ways. There’s the money we give to help with flowers. The support we provided to buy new choir vestments is another. However, neither of those do what another kind of gift does. We call that gift a pledge. You might say the gifts to flowers and such are like birthday presents—specific gifts for specific purposes. But our life as a family involves a lot more: our house, our food, our clothing, everything that keeps our family safe and secure. We need more than birthdays to pay for that. Your mom and I work at jobs that promise us an amount of money for the work we do, and we make our plans based on what that amount is. That’s like our pledge to the church; it’s a promise we make, and the church makes its plans based on that promise, just as we do with our income.”

Nate drew in a deep breath, thinking, “Dad, I wish you were here to help our committee tell the story.

Standing beneath the boat-like roof, memories swirling, Nate starred at the Triptych. Was the transfigured Christ glowing brighter in the fading light, or was his vision of pledging and giving simply growing a bit clearer? Nate thought, “We really are all in this together.” Then he wondered, “Is our commitment to Christ and his Church—becoming his disciples—what causes our own lives to transfigure? Is that what causes us to be a light for the world to see?” Regardless of the answer, Nate knew the next step. He needed to understand more deeply the spiritual impact of giving. He needed to ask the Rector for some help.

To be continued…