On stewardship

I was thirteen years old, four foot eleven, 99 pounds, on a hiking trip through the Sierra Madre Mountains in New Mexico.

I was with a group of Boy Scouts who had made the trip out west in a large passenger van and we’d made stops along the way staying at various military bases.

We toured the sights; I remember specifically a group of girls laughing at me in my 1980’s short shorts and knee socks that made up two thirds of my uniform as we entered the lobby leading to the St. Louis Arch.

I saw a picture taken on that trip recently.

And I looked at my shorts.

I can now understand the laughter.

We arrived in New Mexico sometime in July.

It took us five days to get out there after having visited so many wonderful places.

I remember exiting that bus though, cursing the aroma procured over those five days by a group of ten or so teenaged boys.

You can imagine just how bad that van smelled if a teenaged boy took notice of the odor.

We exited that van and entered into one of the most meaningful series of days that I ever experienced.

We were young, in shape, and hiking the lower Rocky Mountains.

We were left to our own devices to navigate the trails we would take, we cooked dehydrated food over fires and baked peach cobbler over ashes in a cast iron Dutch oven buried in the earth.

The night skies were a canvas of sparkling light deriving from forever as satellites streaked across the sky in their lower orbits.

We would wake to days of miles-long hikes interrupted by lunch and the quiet certitude that in the coming days we would face a challenge unlike any we’d ever encountered up until that point.

That challenge was Baldy Mountain.

Nestled in the Rockies, the peak was 12,000 feet above sea level.

We would need to hike a thirty-five hundred foot incline in just three miles to reach that peak.

It was going to be challenging.

It was going to be hard.

And on the morning of our ascent, we began below the tree line, following the switch-backs that would ease the incline and ease the effort it took to get to the top.

We soon passed the tree line.

We were exposed to the elements, the wind bit at our lips and found its way down our hooded sweatshirts; it chilled our torsos.

We climbed past and through bits of snow leftover from the winter storms; we grabbed the icy drifts and formed snowballs.

Our energy waned.

We were so high up and were natural flatlanders so the altitude took its toll.

I was in the middle of the pack, some in front, others behind.

Soon the leaders began to slow.

They needed to rest.

We in the middle passed them by.

The folks behind us were the ones to encourage them to keep going.

And that is how we climbed that mountain.

One group would rest, one would take the lead, the next would encourage the others to keep going.

We were geese in flight climbing ever closer to the heavens, trading the headwinds and forming a cohesive unit supporting each other.

We then reached the peak.

We looked down at where we had come and down to where we were headed.

Exhaustion lifted in triumph.

We climbed a mountain together and we were happy; even proud.

We then climbed back down and set up camp.

Never did a dehydrated meal ever taste so good.

Never did I ever sleep so well.

And above us were the heavens.

A few nights later we were to climb a different peak.

Not much of an elevation gain on this one as we were already pretty far up but this peak was different.

It was a giant white stone formation that jutted out from the trees like a giant tooth, thus it was called the Tooth of Time.

We were to climb this mountain in the earliest of morning so that we could watch the sunrise from nine-thousand feet up.

I wasn’t too crazy about this hike though as I had a stomach bug the night before and woke up feeling unwell.

And yet putting foot after foot in front of me and leaving my pack behind, I made the hike and joined my friends.

We sat in the lightening blue sky that whispered a sunrise to come.

I sat.

We sat.

And together we saw the town of Cimmaron, New Mexico below us.

Houses twinkled with the yellow lights of bulbs shining through windows, it was as if we were looking down upon a model train set in miniature a sort of reflection mimicking the clear night sky above.

As the sun began to rise and burst in its varied shades of orange, we began to see houselights dim and streetlights extinguish in answer to the daylight.

Cars began to leave their driveways carrying drivers headed to work.

I think about those days often.

I was thirteen and awake enough to the world to really take in what was happening, to truly digest the fact that what I was experiencing was beautiful and good and difficult.

So, why this story?

Why share the tales from the summer tour of a thirteen year old?

Well, this week is the kickoff of our Stewardship program and this year’s theme is “Rooted in Abundance”.

Now, we use a tool published by the Episcopal Network for Stewardship also known as TENS.

Churches use this resource to rely on the expertise of the entire church to assist parishes all over the country with their Stewardship Campaigns.

So, please expect to receive your stewardship letter and donation card in the mail this week.

But still, that does not explain why I spent the last few moments talking about a hike.

And here’s the answer: in the letter written on behalf of clergy there is a paragraph in there that reads,

When I walk through a forest, I am aware of the tangle of roots, how one tree is connected to another. Trees use these networks, secretly talking to each other through their roots, passing information along. Adult trees share their sugars with young saplings, a dying tree can send its remaining resources back out to help the community. These networks, these roots of abundance, keep trees in place just as much as they free them to grow and share.

Rooted in abundance.

See, those stories I shared were about nature, but I hope they highlighted a certain amount of interconnectedness that impacts us all and a network of which we are all apart.

I am not sure I could have summitted Baldy Mountain without the encouragement of the crew I was with.

Also, we can see from above whether we are atop a cliff face or flying at night, a network of lights webbing, bright in the center of towns and cities with light poles becoming sparser as they reach the end of town.

You see, there are times in our lives when we need not or can no longer rely on our own light.

Sometimes our spirit lags; our batteries need charging.

And that is where we come in.

We exist in this place to encourage each other up our various mountains; through our various jungles; rise above our various pit falls.

We are the reason for this church’s continued vitality.

I am not the reason.

No one person is the reason.

We are the reason, all of us, that we find encouragement, love, and holiness in this space.

And you are all part of this network.

And together we get to point out the light that shines upon us all.

Sometimes the light in the distant is but a sliver dancing on the horizon and sometimes that light is hard to see.

But we get to point out that light to each other.

And sometimes we revel in the noonday sun and we realize so easily the warmth of the light upon us, so much warmth, so much light that we get to share it with the community and each other.

The simplicity of a full basket of food delivered to the food bank is evidence of that light, that love, that warmth.

Friends, we are of the forest.

We are connected.

We are one body of Christ, one family witnessing the light of Christ amongst us with each other and for the world.

For that greater light, that human network, the very love of God is the source of all things that work to inspire us to love each other totally, fully, and without exception.

Friends, it is now Stewardship Season and you will hear over the coming weeks various testimony from folks via email, and snail mail and even maybe in person, explaining just why they find this place a place of abundance, a place of rooted connectedness.

I bid you listen to them.

For without each other there is no we, only me and God so wants us in community loving each other, sharing our shoulders on which tears can be shed, smiles through which laughter will flow, all evidence of the love we find in togetherness, evidence of God’s love for all of us.

Friends, I ask that you please pledge in this campaign.

I understand the realities, challenges, and the burdens of this moment in time, where we do face higher inflation, where we do encounter declining attendance on Sunday, where we are all so, so busy, so this ask is a big one.

Understanding all of that still, this is my request: Please pledge your continued support for this parish you love and this community who loves you, all in Christ’s name.

I am here to help the conversation along; please feel free to reach out with any questions or wonderings.

Blessings to you all as you discern your pledge and may you always know that God’s blessing is upon you.

Amen.