I figure, about half of you took one look at this morning’s sermon title and could surmise, well of course, Ken couldn’t resist returning to that reading he used a month ago, now that the canvass is here, the church’s annual attempt to muster the financial support needed to keep itself going and growing. And you’d be right. I did use a reading back then, that even as I was giving it, I thought, hey, why didn’t I save this until the first Sunday in March?

 But the rest of you have no reason to know what rocks, pebbles, or sand might have to do with our understanding of life’s religious adventure. So, I will tell the story again, with apologies to the first group, who already heard it. It comes from the book, First Things First, written by Roger and Rebecca Merrill and most famously, the best-selling author Stephen Covey, whom I recently heard described, alliteratively, as the Mormon management maven.

 Between themselves, they borrow without credit a nifty story about a teacher one of their associates once heard. It seems the unnamed instructor once proposed a quiz to his class.

 "He reached under the table and pulled out a wide-mouth gallon jar. He set it next to a platter with some fist-sized rocks on it. "How many of these rocks do you think we can get in the jar?’ he asked.

 "After we made our guess, he said, ‘Okay. Let’s find out. ‘ He set one rock in the jar . . . then another . . . then another. I don’t remember how many he got in, but he got the jar full. Then he asked, ‘Is that jar full?’

 "Everybody looked at the rocks and said, ‘Yes.’

 "Then he said, ‘Ahhh.’ He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. Then he dumped some gravel in and shook the jar and the gravel went in all the little spaces left by the big rocks. Then he grinned and said once more, ‘Is the jar full?’

 "By this time we were on to him. ‘Probably not,’ we said.

 "’Good! He replied. And he reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in and it went into all the little spaces left by the rocks and the gravel. Once more he looked at us and said, ‘Is the jar full?’

 "’No!’ we all roared.

 "He said, "Good!’ and he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in. He got something like a quart of water in that jar. Then he said, ‘Well, what’s the point?’

 "Somebody said, ‘Well, there are gaps, and if you really work at it, you can always fit more into your life.’

 "’No,’ he said, ‘that’s not the point. The point is this: if you hadn’t put the these big rocks in first, would you ever have gotten any of them in?’" [88-89]

 Whoever the instructor was whose idea Mr. Covey and the Merrills took, it is a powerful one. If we fill our lives up with small matters -- with gravel and sand, if you will – then the big rocks, the things we really care about, won’t have room to fit into the jars that define and limit our lives, and the hours we have to spend in their living.

 Even as I used the reading the first time, I found myself wondering, what are the rocks in our lives, the important things we will want to try to make sure we fit into the finite limits of our time and attention; and what is just sand, trivialities that can fill up the whole jar with no trouble at all, leaving no space left for what might really matter?

 Covey fans know that he has a way of talking about the effort. He notes that the things we might do can be either important or not, and either urgent or not. Obviously we do well to spend a lot of time tending to the things which are urgent and important, and only a little time on what is neither.

 His advice is that with whatever time we still have left after we have tended to the urgent and important things, and probably wasted a little time with things that are neither urgent nor important, when it comes to a choice between things that are either urgent OR important, we go with the latter. Rather than deal with whatever is begging our attention, but doesn’t really matter, he suggests that we do what might really matter instead, even if it may seem less pressing.

 This morning’s three stories come to mind. Now the man who watched Charlie Tillett and his friend drive off into great danger, he took on a task that was both important and urgent. [He saw them drive off onto a divided highway, going the wrong way, and followed until he had coaxed them onto the shoulder.]

But in both the other stories, Charlie Tillett and Warren Bailey had much more urgent matters to attend to than stopping to help seemed to be. [In each case, they stopped upon seeing a motorist changing a tire, apparently without any problem; and both times, they were able to provide critical, even life-saving help.] But they chose to value the helping, to regard it as important; and then they chose importance over urgency. They chose to regard helping as important, and they chose to value importance over urgency.

 We face those choices all the time. For so many people, there are so many details, so many chores to attend to, so many appointments fitted in, so many expectations of what can be accomplished; and it takes some perspicacity to decide that some of them are actually important, and others are not.

 It is tough. Things can come at us so fast that it is hard to find the time to do the sorting, and easier just to take on whatever seems most urgent. And so one tries to get to every meeting, get every little task checked off, keep up with the stacks of reading; and only now and then realize that not one meeting or task or reading all week was as important as some one thing that never cried out for attention, and never got done.

 Maybe it was a misdirected focus of attention at the job, or among the household chores. Or maybe it was a more general misdirection, when what went unattended to was the visit, the phone call, the letter to a relative or friend; or the volunteer work you meant to do that looked like it might be enjoyable and rewarding; or the quiet time to ponder or to give the soul a chance to recover.

 Like many of you, I’m a great one for lists of things to get to. As one plugs along, there is a certain satisfaction in crossing off the items until the page is mostly cross outs, with little place to add an item, and one starts a new list with the last few undone items from the list before, and on and on.

  But some of the most important things don’t make it onto the list, in some cases, ironically, because they are so important. It might seem odd to put a call to one’s parents or a walk in the woods or playing a game with one’s children in there along with a bunch of chores.

But the chores keep coming at one, and lo and behold, before one knows it, another week has slipped by, and then another, one after another consumed with the lesser matters of our lives. And maybe at the end of one such week, we even have a haunting memory of someone changing his or her tire by the side of the road, when we had something that seemed more important to do than to stop and offer help.

 I suppose some people would say that the church can be one of those chores, but for me, it is quite the opposite: it is one of the important matters, and more than that: one of the reasons it is important is that it gives us the time, the respite, the focus on values and larger matters, that can help us see what the other important matters may be, and what matters are only worth as much time as we may have to put in to pay our dues, as it were.

 There is some of that, I know. There are things that are not very important, really -- unless we don’t do them. If we don’t take out the trash, it accumulates, fills the garage, becomes important. The car won’t fit in any more, rodents move in -- now it’s not just important, but urgent.

 So it’s not that the chores aren’t worth doing. It’s a matter of our choosing to give as much of our remaining time, attention, and resources as we can to things that really matter. And to me, that’s part of what I get out of worship, being reminded just by being here on Sunday mornings that there are things I care about, and want to be devoting myself to more than I have been.

 Often all it takes is just the silence, the beauty of the music and the space, the warmth of the community that surrounds us in the pews. And then along comes a story like Charlie’s or Warren’s, or a prayer like Robin’s, maybe even something in the sermon, and one gets to remembering what one cares about, really.

And sure, one still cares about the pending contract, the foul-up with the kitchen make-over, or the exam papers still to be graded – but other things, too, at least as important, and probably more so in the larger sense of things, the way things will seem when we look back in five or ten or thirty years.

I have always thought that a sense of proportion is a big part of what religion is about, and what we try to achieve here in worship, valuing the big rocks, trying to make sure we have made place for them, so that our jars are full of more than the gravel of our worries and our pride, the sand of our minor victories and meager complaints, but also full of gratitude in the face of all the ways that life is touched with blessings and mercy; full of compassion in the face of all the ways that life is touched with tragedy and suffering; full of resolve in the face of all the ways that life is touched with cruelty and injustice; and full of love in the face of all the ways that life is touched with other life.

That’s why church is so important to many of us, because it helps us remember what is important. My retired colleague, Gordon McKeeman, described it well:

"I look forward to going to church on Sunday – whether or not I am the worship leader. When I do not go to church, Sunday lacks a significant element. It seems that my interior world is always in some disarray. The everyday world does not do much to broaden my perspective, to renew my convictions, or make me feel more able to cope with the circumstances of my life. I do expect my time in church on Sunday to renew my sense of their presence and availability.

"I need to be reminded that most human beings try every day to do good work, to be helpful, friendly, and kind. It’s hard to remember that while reading the morning paper or watching the TV news. Decency, consideration, and aspiration don’t seem to make news often. They do, however, make life easier and more satisfying. I expect my church to remind me – not only to remember that – but to be a participant in that life-enhancing process.

"I need to be reminded that there are ideals, values, and goals that rank above making money and having things; to recall that I am not alone in this believing, and that I feel better for having been for an hour or so in the company of those who share that belief. I need to be persuaded once again that there are resources of faith, strength, and courage available to me, and that some of them are even inside of me – too often ignored, neglected, or forgotten. I, too, often forget the music of the spheres, possibly because it’s too noisy inside (or out).

"If I am the worship leader, I want to address the hungers in the lives of those who have come in hope. They live in the same world, hear the same news, struggle with similar disappointments, are burdened with common cares and brightened by beauty, compassion, and awareness. They want to leave feeling stronger, more buoyant, and more generous in giving a full share to the life of their community – be it as small as a single room or as large as the world. I want them to feast at life’s banquet, and be enough committed to its joy, health, and peace to help with the dishes."

Aha, there are dishes to wash -- classes to be taught, planning to do, rehearsals to attend, a cost to be paid in time, in attention, and yes, in case anyone thinks I have forgotten what day this is, in money. If the church really is something important to us, if it is among the real rocks in our lives, like family, work, and some other few favorite things, that should show up in the choices we make, in how we invest our enthusiasm, time, and money.

I say this even though it was from this very pulpit, just about twenty years ago, that I made a similar point, and before the afternoon was over, I had a visit from a parishioner who thanked me for the fine sermon I had given about priorities, which had caused him and his wife to reflect on the ride home about what mattered most to them, and they had decided, it wasn’t First Parish, so they were dropping their pledge!

Luckily, that was the only time that has happened, and I like to think that I’m safe here today. I like to think that all of us who gather here do so in the conviction that our lives are more complete as a part of this congregation, as a part of its worship, its activities, its fellowship, its values, its care for the young and for those in need, and the assurance of its presence for the times of celebration or crisis when we may need it most ourselves.

That’s not sand or gravel. That’s rock. That is among what matters most, to many of us. But it is a choice, not either/or, but still, a choice: How much does it matter if we have the fanciest car or home or color TV, and how much does it matter if our religious community and its programs are well-funded? How much do we care about our retirement portfolios – and believe me, I know, the answer may well be, a goodly amount – and how much do we care about our congregation’s having a great program for the children’s religious development, terrific music for the worship services we offer, and adequate compensation for the secretary, the intern, the custodian, and the other members of the staff?

Please believe me, if times are hard for you just now, the church does not want you to make your life harder, or for you to feel any less a part of the community because one way you cannot express your sense of involvement is by way of your annual pledge. Really, believe me, pledge a dollar a week, and feel as welcome here as anyone else.

But a lot of us these days are doing pretty well, in fact. The denomination suggests that 2% of an average income might be about right, with those who make more than the average doing better than that, and the less affluent among us giving less. Actually, myself, I decided this year was an important one to try to stretch, because I see so many things that deserve to be better funded, things that could contribute a lot to the community’s well being; and also, because more and more as time goes by, I see the church as a part of my life that clearly, deeply matters -- a very big rock in the jar – because of what it stands for, because of what it offers and accomplishes, and most of all, because of you.

As I see things in my own life, my family is the biggest rock, and there are several smaller rocks that are my commitments to my own particular point of view politically and to my own enjoyment, but in between lies you -- this community, this building, its heritage, its principles, its membership, its promise and its desire – you.

For the chance to have that rock in my jar, $1800 of my salary seems a bargain. Indeed, I’m wondering already if a 12 ½ % increase this year truly expresses the importance that the church has – that you have – in my life.

Don’t you feel it, too? Did you hear the choir’s magnificent performance in December, or the several recent appearances by our wonderful, growing children’s choir? Maybe not. But maybe you’ve profited from our intern program, still under-funded, which has brought us candidates for the ministry as able and exciting as – just to name the last few – Erin Splaine, Rebecca Cohen, and now, Robin Zucker.

Or maybe you’ve appreciated the impact that our denomination has had on continental matters of religious concern, and wonder why we are not among the majority of congregations that contribute their Fair Share. Or maybe you wonder how long we can retain our professional staff without bringing their salaries into line with those they could earn elsewhere.

And if you are among the many in an area like ours that is prospering these days, then perhaps you, too, can easily imagine that having a place like ours is important enough that two or three percent of your income or more should go to the church’s preservation, expansion, and health. (Among the religiously conservative, the percentage is oftentimes ten, a practice they call tithing.)

As your minister, I will not know if you do tithe or if instead you choose to devote your disposable income to lottery tickets or a third or fourth home. But it will matter to the quality of life in our religious home if we don’t all pitch in, as best we can, to give what time, attention, and yes, what money we can to what truly matters in our lives -- like this, our community of faith, our church, our religious home.
 
 
 
 

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