"Building Momentum"

The vagaries of the real estate market, especially here in southern California, may seem to offer few spiritual lessons. But the events of the past year have shown us otherwise. Having prepared ourselves - thoroughly and painstakingly - for the long-awaited meeting with the Santa Monica Planning Commission, an unanticipated opportunity presented itself. The house next door went up for sale. Literally over night, we changed direction, bought the property, and before long we were enjoying our new garden and driveway, and wondering what would become of the house. And us.

Sudden dramatic events have a life-altering effect. We go from thinking about ourselves in one way - making the best of one possibility and its limitations - to realizing that we now have before us new possibilities and new limitations. Anything can happen. Such unexpected breaks change even the most comprehensive plans. We don't have as much control over them as we thought. The aftermath can be disorienting. Good surprises require an adjustment, just as bad surprises do.

But this one should not be too hard to do. We've already had a lot of experience. It took many adjustments to arrive at where we are today. With teamwork, enthusiasm, and a generous spirit, we brought the first possibility to life. That opened up yet another possibility, one that promises to be even better than the first.

What we choose to do with this property and how we raise the funds to do it are decisions we face in the months ahead. Having experienced the exhilaration of all we have done so far, we might be tempted to sit back and rest up for a while. Precipitous moves pose risks, and none of us wants to jeopardize the health of our cherished community.

At the same time, the need to move forward is urgent. The pressures and opportunities that drove us to our first building program - the desire for adequate space for religious education, for an enlarged and improved sanctuary, and for enhanced accessibility - have not gone away. Far from it; they have only grown greater.

Our church is poised, somewhat awkwardly, between what we once were and what we can become. We have grown to capacity. The sanctuary still has space for the early service, but newcomers to the late service can easily get the impression that there is no room for them. This is not the welcome we want to give.

Our religious education program is bursting at the seams. Just this week, director of religious education Catherine Farmer and I discussed where our high school group - which will have 20 participants next year - will meet. There is no room large enough for them, without displacing another, even larger group of fourth and fifth graders. We'll make do, but it will be a challenge.

Making do is not a long-term strategy. It is one we have had to use for far too long, however. We've been creative, with a lot of dedicated people to help us. Skilled caregivers manage our nursery, but all the skill and care in the world cannot compensate for the fact that our nursery space is also our administrators' office. A generation of our young have learned our faith in cramped and shabby rooms, a reality they have graciously overlooked. For many years, we could do no better.

It took vision and commitment to plan and design the improvements we needed. But when we did it, we did it well. Now the time comes to transfer that plan to our new circumstances.

Our vision and commitment are still vital. We have years of experience now in how to translate vision into a design and commitment into a plan. That makes us stronger. We will go forward better informed than ever. And go forward we must. Because otherwise we will go back. We cannot hold together a community that needs more than we can give.

A high school group of 20 young people - something that was only a dream a few years ago - came about because we cared greatly to make it happen. Dedicated volunteers, parents, and leaders saw to it that our church had something to give them. It takes vision and commitment to deliver on a dream, but if you ask anyone involved with our youth program, you also learn that this work is a joy.

It goes to the heart of what a church is: where people come together because vision and commitment make a difference in the world. It is where the values and ideals of one generation are nurtured in the next generation. It is where hope stays alive because we see potential all around us and are willing to act to bring it to life. A church is about the future: about sustaining community and the hope it offers. Our commitment as members today is to ensure that this community will be here to welcome those who come after us - in the years as well as the days to come.

"Why do you come?" minister Victoria Safford asked an eighty-year-old member of her congregation. "I come," he answered, "because somebody might miss me if I didn't." And he didn't mean just those people who knew him. He meant the people who would come after him, and their children, who would know the transforming power of a welcoming place, with room for newcomers and a warm "hello" to go with it. They too would miss him if he didn't come.

Here is the challenge for us: to keep up the momentum we have generated so far, trusting our decisions, our dreams and our plans to carry us forward and take us where we need to go. How we build for the future is not simply about numerical growth in members, or attendance, or children. It is about how we grow in our commitment to our vision and values. It is about how we grow in extending ourselves into the future, in offering a welcome to those who need this faith. It's been good for us, but that is not enough. We want it to be here for those who might otherwise miss us. What we do now is what will make the difference for them.

A church member remarked to me recently, how amazing it is that our church exists at all. For what we have is something we have created, entirely on our own, volunteer by volunteer, simply because we want it to be here. Every part of church - not just worship and religious education, but governance, finance, administration, and even the building program - is what we have created together. Together these make up our collective spiritual life. We don't have a faith that we can separate from what we do as a community - our faith is community. And it is what we have to offer others, who come seeking the empowering message we not only speak, but practice. The questions we face now about what to do with our building program go straight to the heart of who we are, why we are here, and what larger reality holds us together. We have before us a challenge to grow - as people of faith, with something to give the world; something that understands that by serving others, we make life more fulfilling for ourselves; something that knows we are not connected to life unless we are planning for the future; something that seeks - and also finds - our place in the larger patterns of reality when we pay attention to the smaller designs we make together. In the months to come - months that promise to be eventful, and full of possibility - and who knows, maybe even a few more surprises - may we remember who we are and all we can become, together.

Reference used for this sermon: "Walking Toward Morning," by Victoria Safford (Boston: Skinner House Books, 2003).