I’ve been thinking about butterflies lately, and there’s a couple of reasons why. Abby, the daughter of my high school best friend, died in an automobile accident some years ago.
Shortly after the accident my friend experienced several soulful encounters with butterflies, leading her to see butterflies as quasi-manifestations of her daughter.
Since Abby’s birth and death occurred around this time of the year, I typically notice them more around this time.
Also, because this is the time of year that butterflies embark on their remarkable 3,000-mile migration to Mexico.
Have you ever thought of us, NCC, in terms of being like butterflies? Me neither. Until now, that is.
We, like these beautiful butterflies, are being transformed in ways not entirely unlike a butterfly’s metamorphosis process as we move through our denominational affiliation evolution.
And we too are in a relocation mode as we migrate 3,000 yards to our new home.
There’s something poetic about that, isn’t there? Us stretching our wings, moving in flight straight up and into our future! It sounds lovely because it is lovely.
But let’s momentarily tap the brakes and look more closely at all that a butterfly undergoes in its evolution.
While there are mystifying, and even seemingly miraculous elements, this evolutionary process can also be disconcerting and awkward, requiring serious fortitude and trust to offset the challenges.
Faced with the vast unknown, imagine the trust it takes to leave a cozy chrysalis. Think too about the trust required of us to be making our move.
In this space that we’ve been graced (no pun intended) to use, it’s been safe.
All of our basic needs have been met, it’s affordable, and we don’t have to leave. The gracious folks at Second Pres would have us indefinitely.
While the week-in and week-out set-up and tech teams might take exception to this, it was comfortable. Safe.
But like a chrysalis, it also kept us contained. We knew we couldn’t really take flight.
So, we began preparing for a migration that would ultimately lead us to our new home… a place to put down roots. Also, a place to have wings.
It sounds antithetical…roots and wings.
And yet that’s balance of faith…being deeply and solidly grounded, while also being open the sky, with the wind beneath our wings being the breath of Divinity.
I choose to believe that the solidness of our fortitude and the depth of our desire, in covenant with the winged grace of Divine providence, brought us to the home that awaits us on Grove Street.
That’s my chosen lens of how that went down. We all probably choose varying versions of that narrative.
There’s another choice that we’ve made about this migration that has been almost completely void of variation.
When Mark and I attended one of our several meetings with Centennial’s pastor and treasurer, we told them what we’d been paying in rent. There was a pause.
Do you recall the attributions of awkwardness and disconcerting given to a butterfly’s emergence? Well, the silence was a little awkward and then became somewhat disconcerting.
When the pastor broke the silence, he said they would be asking more than twice that much for our requested spaces.
Because I knew that wouldn’t fly, I immediately launched into a detailed inquiry about the far less expensive alternative worship space. That was surely the one we would choose and use.
Clearly, I don’t know as much as I think I know. It’s not an uncommon occurrence.
When the options and prices were brought back for consideration, flight was chosen over containment.
Not only had we decided to migrate toward a new home, but we also knew that we wanted to soar…to claim the space that felt authentic to us, even though…
- A) it came with a very different price tag, and
- B) there are additional price tags that accompanied this choice – tech equipment, paint, carpet.
But it’s like the Mastercard ads…
Paint – a couple grand; audio/visual – a couple more; carpet – several more yet.
A space reflective of us, potentially giving us flight into the future – priceless.
The choice of making such an investment might not seem inspiring to you, but I assure you, it was and is to me. Maybe I’ve been in too many other churches where a culture that fosters the potential for flight didn’t exist.
In that vein I will share with you the words of wisdom from our own Mark Austill (who happens to be our head of Finance).
He recently said that churches don’t fold because of lack of membership. They fold because of financial insolvency.
In the last couple of months two examples, one present and one past, have brought me to better appreciate this wisdom.
Early on in our current search process, on the horizon of possible space-sharing options was a little Methodist church on the west side of town. It is minister-less, and its membership has dwindled to less than 15 elderly people whose lack of mobility prohibits them from worshiping upstairs in their sanctuary.
Doesn’t sound like a vivacious congregation, does it?
After hearing about them from a local retired Methodist minister named Dave Gaffron, I contacted them to inquire about possibilities.
The good folks at this little church couldn’t have been less interested.
While at first glance it might appear they’re headed straight toward done-ville, what they don’t have in member numbers they do have in money numbers.
Across the landscape of all of their monetary investment options, these people have chosen to invest heavily in their church. And they’re doing just fine, thank you very much.
The other example comes from a church I formerly served. The monetary culture of this congregation was exceedingly conservative. Instead of annual increases for staff, higher ranking titles were coupled with lower ranking pay rates.
The endowment was absolutely to be seen and not heard (or touched). I could go on, but let it suffice that there was containment, not flight.
Although it seems from a distance that they don’t have a problem with dwindling membership, for their recent ministerial search they went from always having a full-time minister to now offering only a three-quarter time position.
It begins a new, and a little bit sad era for them. A brief era, I hope.
And then there’s us, and our new era. We’ve chosen to set ourselves up for flight.
Several times I’ve heard our other financial guy, Brain, say that he wants our congregation to give me and us a chance to shine, and he’s willing to do what it takes to foster those aspirations of illumination.
This reminds me of something Jesus said to his disciples. I say them now to you, on his behalf:
You are a light of the world—like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone. In the same way, let your goodness shine for all to see, so that God will be praised.
Do you see our congregation as a light in the world?
Stewardship campaign gurus say you always have to get congregants to believe that what they’re investing in means something.
So, I’ll ask again – do you see NCC as a light in the world, in our community?
Do we have something of value to be cultivated and shared?
This brings to mind the first reading we heard today, in which servants received things of value and were tasked with magnifying it, underscoring the teaching… For those who much has been given, much is required.
Abundance, cultivation, sharing are common themes here.
My friends, much has been given to us. The blessings of spirit and connection, love and fortitude, all thrive here.
Indeed, we are a light in our corner of the world.
There was yet another example of it just yesterday.
You’ve heard me say it before, and I will keep on saying it until it’s not true.
I believe that, per capita, our church was the most highly represented of all the faith community in town at the No Kings rally.
I don’t bring this up (again) to pound our chest about how fabulous we are. That vibe is the antithesis of spiritual flight.
Instead, I speak of it as a celebration of us living our faith.
Our passion for justice and devotion to Jesus’ example compels us to have presence at such events.
And that spark of compulsion put into action becomes a light.
Our chosen hilltop, from which to shine our light, is in part our new sacred space at the church on Grove Street.
Hand in hand with that chosen space is the commitment to invest in it.
Each of you, individually, have an opportunity in the next couple of weeks to ponder some of the things you’ve heard here this morning.
Do you experience our church as a light…a light for you, a light for others?
What resources are required for that light to shine?
What investment is needed to support this hilltop that we have soulfully chosen, a hill that is more than twice as steep (but more than twice as lofty) as before?
Will your personal investment this Stewardship season reflect your desire for our Community’s light to shine more brightly than ever?
I trust it will. And I can’t wait to continue on this exciting and most sacred journey with you, to see all the places our flight together will take us!
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