Dear Invited Guests:

Last week I revealed our 2024 Stewardship theme as “A Way of Seeing.” I wish over the next few weeks to illuminate our annual pledge appeal motto with an invitation to deeper reflection. Today, think of the opportunity to pledge as an invitation to a banquet, a metaphor Jesus used on more than one occasion (Matthew 22.1-14 & Luke 14.12-24). 

When sending invitations, our tendency is to focus on the details, the venue, the theme, the menu and the music. As a pastor who has officiated at more than one nuptial celebration, I understand people more accurately recall the entrée, the DJ and the dress than they do the homily, the prayers or the vows. Even though the party is occasioned by the couple’s promise, that moment is lost in a swirl of swag. On several occasions I’ve overheard guests walking into a reception whispering, “Wow, what do you think this cost them?” Not once after the benediction have I heard, “Wow, what do you think they paid for that minister?” In fact, guests tend to be most happy with the briefest possible ceremony followed by the longest possible open bar, not the other way around. Yet couples married in the humblest of surroundings—as were my parents in a little Methodist church across from the Air Corps base in Montgomery, AL, with no guests—sometimes have the longest and most joyful marriages.

We have, you might say, a fixation with the fixings; we become trapped by the trappings. Much later in life we see beyond the ice sculptures and bonbonnière to the hearts of two pledging to grow in grace. It is no wonder that those who cry at weddings are of two groups: the ones closest to the couple who see lives and relationships about to change, and those who are old and have some deeper sense of the breadth and depth of the commencing journey.

This may seem far afield from an annual stewardship appeal, especially since church sanctuaries are used less frequently than they once were for weddings. Logistically it makes sense to have the ceremony and celebration at the same location. The parking is better, and the banquet hall permits liquor. But I think there is a way of seeing banquet invitations like pledge cards. 

“Are you free this Saturday evening?” a friend may ask. If you are not available because of a wedding invitation, how you answer communicates a great deal. Consider how “No, not this Saturday—I have to go to my cousin’s wedding” compares to “No, not this Saturday—I get to go to my cousin’s wedding.” One implies onerous obligation while the other implies delighted anticipation. Saturday’s wedding invitation is an honor rather than a debt. It’s a way of seeing.

When you receive your pledge card in the mail or pick one up in the Narthex, reflect on how you view that invitation. Each fall, do we endure the obligation of the church’s annoying need for revenue, or are we honored by the request to participate? If our relationship to this invitation feels like a debt for services rendered or a tax on membership, then I suggest we need to change our way of seeing. 

Often church leaders have earned the cynicism. They behave like greedy engaged couples ticking only the most expensive items in the gift registry, then treat the gifts received as disappointing proof of their guests' begrudging stinginess. Again, it’s a way of seeing.

Sometimes, to see more clearly, we must close our eyes. Forget for a moment the buffet, the flowers, the centerpieces, the dresses and tuxedos, and think about why we have come. Love is being pledged here; relationships are reconfigured; among us journeys begin, thrive and conclude; and we’re invited to witness and participate. Perhaps if we see it more clearly, we can better understand the tears of both the closest and the old.

Sharing the invitation to a way of seeing, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor