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By Dr. Bruce T. Marshall
March 6, 2011
I remember a storybook I had as a child. The specifics are vague
since that was a long time ago, but I remember enough of it and
still think of the story from time to time. The main character was a
fix-it guy. Actually, it wasn’t a guy, it was an animal of some sort
since the book was populated by talking animals. Let’s say that the
fix-it guy was a bear, though I’m not sure that’s true.
This fix-it bear loved to, well, fix things. He wore one of those
tool belts that has loops to hang a hammer, screw drivers, whatever
he might need to repair what he happened upon. He got his house into
impeccable shape, then moved on to the neighbors. He fixed broken
staircases for little old ladies, he fixed play houses for children,
he cleared out drains that were stopped up, he painted walls that
needed freshening up. That’s what he did, and he loved it.
Then one day, something terrible happened. Something terrible
happened that had never happened in this little town before:
everything was fixed. The fix-it bear walked around looking for a
screw that needed tightening, a squeaky door hinge that needed
oiling, a dripping faucet somewhere, anywhere...but nothing. The
fix-it bear went over to a bench in the park, and he sat, and he
sat, and he looked very sad.
The people in the community—that is to say, the other talking
animals—were worried. They loved the fix-it bear, for obvious
reasons, and they didn’t like seeing him so unhappy. They called a
meeting of everybody in town, everybody but the fix-it bear who was
too depressed to come. They said, “What can we do?” and they weighed
many options. Finally the sheriff, who I believe was a duck wearing
a badge, stood up and said, “I have an idea. Leave it to me. Our
problem will be solved.”
The sheriff left the meeting and went over to a pen where they kept
the biggest, meanest, bull in town. This bull, for reasons not
entirely clear, was the only animal in this story who did not talk.
He snorted, though, which underscored how big and mean he was. The
duck who was the sheriff, went to the pen, opened the gate, gave the
bull a whack, and set him loose. The bull went on a rampage like
only the biggest meanest bull in town could do. He trampled down
fences, broke windows, even got into a few houses where he made a
terrible mess, which in turn stirred up great vast clouds of dust.
The fix-it bear, meanwhile, was sitting on a bench in the park,
staring vacantly into space. But then he noticed the cloud of dust
getting kicked up, and then he saw the bull, and then he saw the
destruction being wrought. And then a big smile burst onto his face.
“I’ve got to fix that fence,” he said. “I’ve got to replace that
window,” he said. “I’ve got to clean up the mess in that house!” Off
he went, humming a little tune, secure in the knowledge that he had
plenty of things to do, enough to keep him busy for as long as he
could imagine.
The fix-it bear was happy again, the sheriff was happy, the town was
happy, the bull got tired and went to sleep.
The end.
● ● ●
This is a sermon about infrastructure. I’ve never done a sermon on
infrastructure before. It’s about time because this is an important
topic. Without infrastructure, our lofty thoughts about love,
beauty, freedom, diversity, truth and justice: they don’t have
anyplace to sit.
Infrastructure is defined as the basic framework or features of a
system or organization. The infrastructure consists of elements that
make it possible for a society to function: roads and bridges,
transportation systems, electricity, energy, water supply, waste
water and solid waste management. Pretty basic stuff. Without it,
the community as we know it collapses. For an example, all we need
do is consider what happens when a winter storm knocks out the
electricity. After about two days and two nights without heat and
light and internet access, it feels like we’re on the verge of
reverting to cannibalism.
Churches have infrastructure. These are elements that make it
possible for us to function as a community. Some are physical
features: our building, the electricity, the heating and cooling
systems, the water supply, the sewer system, the parking lot, the
access roads, the sound equipment, the furniture, the piano, the
roof. Other elements of our infrastructure include policies and
procedures, definitions of how we do things, the committee
structure, the board. That is, the systems in place to help us do
the work of the church, be it providing religious education and
music, offering the weekly Sunday worship service, working for
social justice, welcoming new members, caring for each other,
setting up social events and adult education opportunities—it
doesn’t happen without infrastructure to support it.
Attending to infrastructure is not real exciting (unless you happen
to be a fix-it bear.) That’s a reason why our nation’s
infrastructure has suffered neglect—our roads and bridges, our
electrical grid, the pipes underground that supply water and gas and
that remove waste. It’s more fun to start something new, something
that hasn’t been before than to keep what’s already here in order
and repair. It’s also more fun to be involved in something visible
than attending to those things that are mostly unseen and unheard,
functioning quietly in the background. When it’s working well,
infrastructure is mostly unnoticed. But if any element of the
infrastructure stops working, then it demands our attention.
Inattention to infrastructure is also apparent to someone new to an
organization. We might have learned to love that beat-up old couch
but someone unfamiliar with its history and its charms just sees a
beat-up old couch. I remember a comment made by a member who was new
to Davies a few years back. He said that the condition of our
restrooms at that time was just about a deal breaker for his
spouse—just about didn’t join because of that. Since then, there has
been work on the restroom front, but that near miss demonstrates the
importance of attending to things that those of us who have been
around for awhile might not even see.
The interim period between settled ministers is a time for dealing
with congregational infrastructure. It’s a time to steady the
foundations. It’s a time to clean, repair, oil squeaky wheels,
polish things up. It’s a time to think about how we do the work of a
congregation: our policies and procedures. It’s a time to get things
in smooth running condition.
I think we’ve done a pretty good job in this last year and a half. A
lot of nagging problems have been addressed. Think, the painting of
this sanctuary. Addressing the mold problem in RE rooms and
installing a new floor in Room 6. Improving our emergency lighting
and exits. Working on the external drainage systems to address the
dampness issue. The phones have been upgraded. We have new computers
for the staff. There have been lots of little improvements we might
not see but that make things work more easily. In the organizational
realm, we have put considerable thought into how we do things. We’ve
worked on our policy manual. We have opened up the committee
structure. We have addressed questions of how we define membership,
how we choose priorities, how we divide up the tasks necessary to
keep a church running, how we finance the organization.
We’re still a long way from needing to turn a bull loose to shake
things up—there’s plenty to do without that kind of help. But we are
making progress. The system that is this church looks better and
feels better and functions better thanks to the work that you have
done in this past year and a half. I hope you feel proud of this
effort because I certainly am proud of what this church has
accomplished..
● ● ●
This sermon—and last night’s fellowship dinner—constitute the
kickoff of the annual canvass or finance campaign. It’s a time when
we reach out to each member and friend—each person who has a stake
in this church—and ask what you can give for the coming fiscal year
that starts on July 1. (Yes, July 1 is just around the corner.)
Finance campaigns are about infrastructure. They are about raising
the money it takes to maintain a well-functioning organization. What
the money is spent on might not be exciting in itself: it’s
salaries, it’s utilities, it’s building repairs, it’s committee
expenses which might be like paying for advertising or making copies
or paper and ink cartridges. But even though that’s what we spend
the money on, it’s not really what the money is for.
The purpose of this church is not to maintain a building, though we
have to do it. The purpose of this church is not to give an excuse
for holding lots of committee meetings, though we also do that. The
purpose of this church is not even to present worship services,
offer religious education, host coffee hour and soup Sundays. The
purpose is something else. But we have to do all those things to get
to what our purposes really are.
So what are those purposes?
Maybe you’ve had this experience. You work with other people on a
project—maybe a committee with responsibility for a specific realm
in the church, maybe something like repainting a room, maybe a
social justice project like Christmas in April, maybe a clean-up day
at the church, maybe teaching an RE class—and in the process, you
find yourself getting to know others on this project a little
better. You might find yourself feeling closer to the person you are
working with or the people on your committee. We might find
ourselves drawn together, strands of connection formed that link us
with each other. That is to say, we build community.
Sometimes too in these interactions, we might find ourselves put in
touch with our own values, what we truly care about. We might find
ourselves inspired to do and be something more than we have been. We
might find that through forming these connections with others in
this community, we are better able to deal with some of the problems
that plague us in our everyday lives.
I was talking with someone this past week who described his church
experience. He’s in another church, not this one, but the experience
is familiar. He spoke of the feeling he gets in his church that he
matters, the sense of connection to something greater than himself,
an awakening hope. He feels renewed, better able to face the
challenges of his life thanks to his participation in that church.
That happens here too. Sometimes we find ourselves drawn into a
deeper level of being than in everyday life. Perhaps during “Spirit
of Life” in our service, or in Joys and Sorrow when someone shares
something from the heart, or when listening to a piece of music
together, or in a conversation with someone that conveys what we
need to hear. Or just walking into the building and feeling the
warmth of this community. You probably don’t get that when you first
enter as a newcomer. It builds as you get to know people, do things
together, share experiences, moments of significance.
So maybe when you leave Davies after a Sunday, you find yourself
feeling a little better, a little happier, a little more in tune
with yourself than when you arrived. Or maybe you take something
with you to think about as the new week begins. Or maybe you feel a
sense of warmth and satisfaction from having connected with people
you care about. And maybe you leave feeling a little more like
yourself, like who you want to be.
Those are our purposes, I think, not so much the specific events and
activities but what can happen in the midst of them. This is why we
attend to infrastructure. It provides the foundation so that we can
sometimes find that experience of community, that sense of renewal
and hope and new life which is at the center of the promise of a
church. This is also why we contribute to this congregation: to keep
that possibility alive.
● ● ●
There’s a flaw in the story of the fixit bear with which I began:
one part that doesn’t ring true. The flaw is that in the story,
there’s only one fix-it bear in town: everybody else stands around
and watches. But that’s not how it works. In reality, we are all
fix-it bears. We are at our best when each of us become engaged. The
congregation is strongest when we liberate the inner fix-it bear in
each of us and become a community, working together, sharing, each
contributing our talents and resources to strengthen this
congregation and thereby make this part of the world a little
better.
All of us fix-it bears: we need tools, we need heat and water and
light and places to sit, we need processes for problem-solving, for
getting things accomplished. We need infrastructure to support the
work that we do, which ultimately is building a strong
congregational community, sharing our lives with each other, and
sometimes encountering moments of inspiration that draw us toward
what we can yet do and be.
So I hope that when you give to Davies—financial contributions, your
contributions of time and effort, your sharing of talents—I hope
that you receive in equal measure. I hope that you receive and take
with you something of the spirit that makes Davies such a special
place. Something of the warmth of this community. Something of the
values of this congregation and the passions that move its people.
I hope that you find something in this community we build together
that gives you life and sustains your being.
● ● ●
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