A Community of Volunteers
a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the Second Congregational Meeting House on Nantucket Island
Sunday September 22, 2002
***
The summer I graduated from Divinity School, I returned home to the Pacific Northwest and lived with my grandmother at her beachfront cottage on Camano Island in Washington State, about an hour north of Seattle. I had a vocation, a religious “calling,” but I didn’t really have a job, or any immediate prospects of a job, so my grandmother (who was born and reared in West Texas, worked hard all of her life, was then well into her eighties, and who still didn’t believe that able-bodied young men should spend an entire summer sitting around on the beach, even when the beach is only 30 yards from the front door) found jobs for me to do around her place in exchange for my bed and board. And one of my many jobs there that summer -- a job actually very well-suited for a freshly ordained minister -- was to dig my grandmother's potato hill.
I don't know how many of you have ever had the opportunity to grub for potatoes , but to my mind it's one of the more satisfying jobs around. It's almost like a treasure hunt: first you pull the potato plant up by its roots, and pluck off all the little potatoes clinging there, then you get to grub around in the soft dirt with your fingers for the larger potatoes still buried in the soil, until you've found as many as you can. I used to do this every other day, or whenever my grandmother wanted fresh potatoes for our supper; and she always cautioned me against grubbing too thoroughly. You see, my grandparents had planted that potato hill almost ten years earlier, when they had first moved to the island year-round; and it had continued to feed them ever since. The potato plants were what my grandmother called "volunteers," because they re-seeded themselves every spring from the potatoes left in the ground the previous summer. The only work they required was a little weeding and a little watering, followed by a perpetual harvest.
Prior to that summer, I had never actually heard the word "volunteer" used in the context of gardening. Growing up, my definition of a volunteer was somewhat more "heroic" in nature, something along the lines of Davy Crockett and the "Tennessee Volunteers" at the Alamo. Colonel Travis draws a line in the dust with the point of his saber, and all the volunteers step across it, except of course for Jim Bowie, deathly ill in bed, who had to ask the others to carry him across. Now THEY were volunteers! Courageous, committed, willing to sacrifice their very lives for the cause of Texas Independence -- not exactly the sort of qualities you'd expect to find in a potato. Since that time, however, I've discovered that voluntary commitment need not always require “the last full measure of devotion.” Volunteers come in all shapes and sizes, and their efforts may be great or small; yet they remain the lifeblood of a free society, for it is only thorough the voluntary actions of individuals that democracy flourishes, reseeds itself, and comes alive again for a new generation.
Linguistically, the word "volunteer" comes from the Latin noun voluntas, which means "free will." It's a term also related to our English word "volition," which means roughly the same thing. A volunteer is someone who acts of their own volition, their own free will; who undertakes a particular course of action because they want to, and not because they feel compelled or coerced. In religious circles, the "voluntary principle" has a very specific, historical meaning: it refers to the idea that religious institutions should be supported by, and thus controlled by, the participants of those institutions, rather than by the general tax revenues of secular government. In other words, it is only the widespread adoption of the voluntary principle in church life which makes possible the effective separation of Church and State, not so much in terms of a lack of influence by religious ideas upon the politics of a nation, but rather with respect to the independence of churches, and their beliefs, from the control of governmental authority. The free church is historically a voluntary church, a self-sufficient church, in which the liberty to believe the inspirations of one's own conscience is directly dependent upon both the courage, and the commitment, of the community of believers.
The Unitarian social ethicist James Luther Adams, whose work on the significance of voluntary associations in a free society earned for him an international reputation as one of the twentieth century's most important and influential liberal theologians, once wrote (in one of his many essays on the subject) that: "The voluntary association at its best offers an institutional framework within which the give and take of discussion may be promoted, an institutional framework within which a given consensus or practice may be brought under criticism and be subjected to change. It offers a means for bringing a variety of perspectives into interplay. It offers the means of breaking through old social structures in order to meet new needs. It is a means of dispersing power, in the sense that power is the capacity to participate in making social decisions. It is the training ground of the skills that are required for viable social existence in a democracy. In short, the voluntary association is a means for the institutionalizing of gradual revolution." Adams' oft-quoted motto was "By their groups shall ye know them;" and he believed not only that the voluntary principle is the primary means by which churches bring some sort of tangible expression of their mission in the world, but that it also serves as a corrective to the absolute truth claims of any particular religious body, through its acknowledgment that God can work even through infidels in the voluntary creation of a greater good.
Likewise, back in the days when he was still Director of our denominational Office of Social Responsibility, former Unitarian Universalist Association President Bill Schulz (now the Executive Director of Amnesty International), used to speak of a "Theology of Dirty Hands" (a phrase which makes me suspect he may have grubbed a potato or two in his day) with respect to the necessity of translating abstract theological conviction into practical, "hands-on" action, thus giving full expression to our religious faith in the real world in which we live. This too is an example of the voluntary principle at work within our religious communities, providing opportunities for individuals to live out their convictions by working cooperatively together toward a common goal. The vitality of a church is the direct expression of the vitality of its volunteers, who in turn express the vitality of their faith through their willingness to manifest the longings of their hearts by the efforts of their hands.
Every day, and in a hundred different ways, churches depend on volunteers for their very existence. But it's more than just a matter of finding enough people to do all the jobs; indeed, in many ways, it is just the opposite. The voluntary principle is not so much a question of necessity as it is one of volition, of finding enough jobs to suit all the people. I'm not talking about just any old job here: I mean responsibilities within a church community which effectively make use of an individual's talents and interests, which are appropriately matched to the amount of time and effort they are capable of offering, and which will enable them to collaborate in a meaningful way with other individuals, and with the congregation as a whole, in order to accomplish the goals, the mission, and the ministry of the church, al the while finding personal fulfillment for themselves in the bargain. Because when you get right down to it, helping individuals to find meaningful and effective ways of putting their faith into action IS one of the core missions and ministries of the church. We discover who we truly are by what we hope to do, then become the person we hope to be by setting out to do it.
When I say that volunteer work should be fulfilling work, I'm not suggesting that volunteer work shouldn't be hard work: nothing in life worth accomplishing is particularly easy. But on some level at least it must be satisfying work, the kind of work which allows individuals to roll up their sleeves, and get their hands dirty, and still see some meaningful result from their activity. It ought to be work which not only allows individuals to put their faith into action, but which also enables them to grow in that faith, to become empowered as part of the solution rather than part of the problem, both personally and collectively, within the context of our community life. The work may not always be glamourous, but it should never be meaningless; it should be fun but not frivolous; challenging, but not thankless. Above all, at the end of the day, it should embody the creative manifestation of one's own free will; it should be a work which is intrinsically its own reward, yet which can also be readily recognized and acknowledged for its value by the entire community of faith in which it occurs.
So, where might one go to find fulfilling and rewarding volunteer opportunities such as this?
Well, the obvious, quick and easy answer, is right downstairs in about ten or fifteen minutes. But before heading downstairs, there’s another place you should look first, and that’s honestly within your own soul. Ask yourself, honestly, what is it you hope to gain from your participation in this church, and how much of yourself are you willing to invest in order to attain it? How do you want to put YOUR faith into action, and how do you expect to be rewarded for your efforts? What do you do well? What would you like to LEARN to do? What gives you joy? What would you like to see more of around here? Who would you like to get to know a little better? What kind of activity can you envision for yourself, large or small, that truly does embody your deepest sense of personal conviction and commitment, even as it enables you to stretch and grow in your ability to live a spiritually centered, devotionally focused, religiously grounded lifestyle?
I know these aren’t exactly easy questions to answer, at least not off the top of your head. But part of the process of spiritual and religious growth is the challenge of exploration, of taking risks and trying new things, and discovering... sometimes simply through trial and error...where your true path lies.
I sometimes like to think that the life of the spirit has four distinct phases. The first, of course, is Inspiration: those moments when the spirit comes unbidden into our lives, in an instant of unexpected grace, to provide a brief glimpse of something that is not now yet may someday be. Next comes Aspiration: our ambition to make that vision real, to transform our dreams into tangible achievements. Then there is Respiration: the time we take to pause and catch our breath, to reflect on who we are and what we have been called to do, to listen receptively to our own inner voice and see clearly our path from beginning to end. And finally there is Perspiration (which is ultimately, I suppose, the essence of the voluntary principle) -- the hard work we do in order to convert all our musings into action, and thus do the work of God in the world. But the point is that all four of these “spirits” share the same source and purpose. And no matter how sticky and sweaty we may become, there is always both a dream and a desire which stand behind our efforts, awaiting only our conscious reflection, and the exercise of our free will, before springing forth into the world to delight the hearts of those who seek it.
at the Second Congregational Meeting House on Nantucket Island
Sunday September 22, 2002
***
The summer I graduated from Divinity School, I returned home to the Pacific Northwest and lived with my grandmother at her beachfront cottage on Camano Island in Washington State, about an hour north of Seattle. I had a vocation, a religious “calling,” but I didn’t really have a job, or any immediate prospects of a job, so my grandmother (who was born and reared in West Texas, worked hard all of her life, was then well into her eighties, and who still didn’t believe that able-bodied young men should spend an entire summer sitting around on the beach, even when the beach is only 30 yards from the front door) found jobs for me to do around her place in exchange for my bed and board. And one of my many jobs there that summer -- a job actually very well-suited for a freshly ordained minister -- was to dig my grandmother's potato hill.
I don't know how many of you have ever had the opportunity to grub for potatoes , but to my mind it's one of the more satisfying jobs around. It's almost like a treasure hunt: first you pull the potato plant up by its roots, and pluck off all the little potatoes clinging there, then you get to grub around in the soft dirt with your fingers for the larger potatoes still buried in the soil, until you've found as many as you can. I used to do this every other day, or whenever my grandmother wanted fresh potatoes for our supper; and she always cautioned me against grubbing too thoroughly. You see, my grandparents had planted that potato hill almost ten years earlier, when they had first moved to the island year-round; and it had continued to feed them ever since. The potato plants were what my grandmother called "volunteers," because they re-seeded themselves every spring from the potatoes left in the ground the previous summer. The only work they required was a little weeding and a little watering, followed by a perpetual harvest.
Prior to that summer, I had never actually heard the word "volunteer" used in the context of gardening. Growing up, my definition of a volunteer was somewhat more "heroic" in nature, something along the lines of Davy Crockett and the "Tennessee Volunteers" at the Alamo. Colonel Travis draws a line in the dust with the point of his saber, and all the volunteers step across it, except of course for Jim Bowie, deathly ill in bed, who had to ask the others to carry him across. Now THEY were volunteers! Courageous, committed, willing to sacrifice their very lives for the cause of Texas Independence -- not exactly the sort of qualities you'd expect to find in a potato. Since that time, however, I've discovered that voluntary commitment need not always require “the last full measure of devotion.” Volunteers come in all shapes and sizes, and their efforts may be great or small; yet they remain the lifeblood of a free society, for it is only thorough the voluntary actions of individuals that democracy flourishes, reseeds itself, and comes alive again for a new generation.
Linguistically, the word "volunteer" comes from the Latin noun voluntas, which means "free will." It's a term also related to our English word "volition," which means roughly the same thing. A volunteer is someone who acts of their own volition, their own free will; who undertakes a particular course of action because they want to, and not because they feel compelled or coerced. In religious circles, the "voluntary principle" has a very specific, historical meaning: it refers to the idea that religious institutions should be supported by, and thus controlled by, the participants of those institutions, rather than by the general tax revenues of secular government. In other words, it is only the widespread adoption of the voluntary principle in church life which makes possible the effective separation of Church and State, not so much in terms of a lack of influence by religious ideas upon the politics of a nation, but rather with respect to the independence of churches, and their beliefs, from the control of governmental authority. The free church is historically a voluntary church, a self-sufficient church, in which the liberty to believe the inspirations of one's own conscience is directly dependent upon both the courage, and the commitment, of the community of believers.
The Unitarian social ethicist James Luther Adams, whose work on the significance of voluntary associations in a free society earned for him an international reputation as one of the twentieth century's most important and influential liberal theologians, once wrote (in one of his many essays on the subject) that: "The voluntary association at its best offers an institutional framework within which the give and take of discussion may be promoted, an institutional framework within which a given consensus or practice may be brought under criticism and be subjected to change. It offers a means for bringing a variety of perspectives into interplay. It offers the means of breaking through old social structures in order to meet new needs. It is a means of dispersing power, in the sense that power is the capacity to participate in making social decisions. It is the training ground of the skills that are required for viable social existence in a democracy. In short, the voluntary association is a means for the institutionalizing of gradual revolution." Adams' oft-quoted motto was "By their groups shall ye know them;" and he believed not only that the voluntary principle is the primary means by which churches bring some sort of tangible expression of their mission in the world, but that it also serves as a corrective to the absolute truth claims of any particular religious body, through its acknowledgment that God can work even through infidels in the voluntary creation of a greater good.
Likewise, back in the days when he was still Director of our denominational Office of Social Responsibility, former Unitarian Universalist Association President Bill Schulz (now the Executive Director of Amnesty International), used to speak of a "Theology of Dirty Hands" (a phrase which makes me suspect he may have grubbed a potato or two in his day) with respect to the necessity of translating abstract theological conviction into practical, "hands-on" action, thus giving full expression to our religious faith in the real world in which we live. This too is an example of the voluntary principle at work within our religious communities, providing opportunities for individuals to live out their convictions by working cooperatively together toward a common goal. The vitality of a church is the direct expression of the vitality of its volunteers, who in turn express the vitality of their faith through their willingness to manifest the longings of their hearts by the efforts of their hands.
Every day, and in a hundred different ways, churches depend on volunteers for their very existence. But it's more than just a matter of finding enough people to do all the jobs; indeed, in many ways, it is just the opposite. The voluntary principle is not so much a question of necessity as it is one of volition, of finding enough jobs to suit all the people. I'm not talking about just any old job here: I mean responsibilities within a church community which effectively make use of an individual's talents and interests, which are appropriately matched to the amount of time and effort they are capable of offering, and which will enable them to collaborate in a meaningful way with other individuals, and with the congregation as a whole, in order to accomplish the goals, the mission, and the ministry of the church, al the while finding personal fulfillment for themselves in the bargain. Because when you get right down to it, helping individuals to find meaningful and effective ways of putting their faith into action IS one of the core missions and ministries of the church. We discover who we truly are by what we hope to do, then become the person we hope to be by setting out to do it.
When I say that volunteer work should be fulfilling work, I'm not suggesting that volunteer work shouldn't be hard work: nothing in life worth accomplishing is particularly easy. But on some level at least it must be satisfying work, the kind of work which allows individuals to roll up their sleeves, and get their hands dirty, and still see some meaningful result from their activity. It ought to be work which not only allows individuals to put their faith into action, but which also enables them to grow in that faith, to become empowered as part of the solution rather than part of the problem, both personally and collectively, within the context of our community life. The work may not always be glamourous, but it should never be meaningless; it should be fun but not frivolous; challenging, but not thankless. Above all, at the end of the day, it should embody the creative manifestation of one's own free will; it should be a work which is intrinsically its own reward, yet which can also be readily recognized and acknowledged for its value by the entire community of faith in which it occurs.
So, where might one go to find fulfilling and rewarding volunteer opportunities such as this?
Well, the obvious, quick and easy answer, is right downstairs in about ten or fifteen minutes. But before heading downstairs, there’s another place you should look first, and that’s honestly within your own soul. Ask yourself, honestly, what is it you hope to gain from your participation in this church, and how much of yourself are you willing to invest in order to attain it? How do you want to put YOUR faith into action, and how do you expect to be rewarded for your efforts? What do you do well? What would you like to LEARN to do? What gives you joy? What would you like to see more of around here? Who would you like to get to know a little better? What kind of activity can you envision for yourself, large or small, that truly does embody your deepest sense of personal conviction and commitment, even as it enables you to stretch and grow in your ability to live a spiritually centered, devotionally focused, religiously grounded lifestyle?
I know these aren’t exactly easy questions to answer, at least not off the top of your head. But part of the process of spiritual and religious growth is the challenge of exploration, of taking risks and trying new things, and discovering... sometimes simply through trial and error...where your true path lies.
I sometimes like to think that the life of the spirit has four distinct phases. The first, of course, is Inspiration: those moments when the spirit comes unbidden into our lives, in an instant of unexpected grace, to provide a brief glimpse of something that is not now yet may someday be. Next comes Aspiration: our ambition to make that vision real, to transform our dreams into tangible achievements. Then there is Respiration: the time we take to pause and catch our breath, to reflect on who we are and what we have been called to do, to listen receptively to our own inner voice and see clearly our path from beginning to end. And finally there is Perspiration (which is ultimately, I suppose, the essence of the voluntary principle) -- the hard work we do in order to convert all our musings into action, and thus do the work of God in the world. But the point is that all four of these “spirits” share the same source and purpose. And no matter how sticky and sweaty we may become, there is always both a dream and a desire which stand behind our efforts, awaiting only our conscious reflection, and the exercise of our free will, before springing forth into the world to delight the hearts of those who seek it.
posted by The Eclectic Cleric at 2:51 PM
