EVERYTHING I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO TELL YOU
BUY NEVER DARED

Some of you will recall
the last sermon David and Kathy Bianculli purchased
            at the church auction
    -pick a title or a topic.
For a paltry sum, they required that I should preach the same sermon
    which earlier that summer
I had preached in our partner church
    in Szekelyderzs Transylvania.
They stipulated, however, that the sermon
    pe preached, as originally, in Hungarian.

A few of you will remember the service
    although not the sermon
since, as I recall, even sitting on the uncomfortable
    metal folding chairs of the Joyce Kilmer School,
there were but a handful of you still awake
    when the peroration,
            what you might think of as the final words -
    was delivered.

I still remember how, as the opening chords
    of the final hymn were struck
David's eyes flew open with a look of terror
    and he once more assumed an upright position.

Well, here we are again
at a sermon bought at a recent church auction
    by David and Kathy Bianculli.
Treacherous waters.

In this case, David offered me two titles
for my final sermon...
        the sermon by which you would remember me:
    Everything I have Always Wanted to Tell You, but Never Dared
and
    Why Sex Matters.

While you would probably remember me
    more fully and more fondly
if I were to choose the latter title,
the fact is that even before I was installed as minister,
I was informed that there are three acts
    the minister of this congregation must avoid:
        mention of God
            use the word 'Amen'
                which would indicate that the preceding words
                    were in fact a prayer
            and reference to the Bible.
Recalling these caveats,
discretion indicates that I avoid sex
    lest there be any suggestion
        that I am preaching from Scripture.

I do this, be it noted,
    without any acquiescence
to the pernicious implication
    that there are disclosures I have avoided
during the years of my ministry.

Bluntly put,
although some of you have suggested otherwise,
I am not about to announce
    that I have been an evangelical Christian
in rational agnostic guise
    all along.
Can't happen. Won't happen.
I am as I have told you.

It has been said
that a minister who has served a church
for more than five years,
has been in the church
    longer than  third of the members;
ten years longer than two thirds.
Sixteen years... a permanent fixture.

It is mindful of the longevity of my residence
that I would like to tell you
    briefly of my history with the church.
In passing I would note
that any minister who has been in a church
    sixteen years
probably is a very poor judge
    of the length of either anecdote or reminiscence.
This part is called structure as metaphor.

The first time I visited what was then
The Unitarian Church in Cherry Hill
    ws about thirty years ago.
I was minister of the Fairfax Unitarian Church
    in northern Virginia
built about the same year as Fellowship Hall.
Unlike Fairfax, however, in a wealthy Washington suburb,
    Cherry Hill had been forced to stretch financially
        to make ends meet during construction
and, in addition, had suffered several unsettled ministries,
    which impacted on the congregation's finances.

The result was that the buildings in Cherry Hill
were in difficult shape...
result of lack of both adequate maintenance
    and proper construction.

By contrast, Fairfax was in great shape.

I had driven some teen-agers here for a conference.
I remember distinctly my feeling of relief
as I drove down the driveway after leaving them off.
I refreshed myself with the thought
    that this musty, humid, hot, fraying church
was not mine.

The next time I visited these grounds,
I was a potential candidate for its ministry.
Once again, the time
    was in the middle of summer.
Fellowship Hall was literally dripping with dampness
    while beetles scurried where the walls met the floor.
Unitarian House was steamy with July heat.
Mine was a distinct sense
    the the church was tired
    and overwhelmed with buildings
        no wholly suitable for their purpose.

I had been in Schenectady ten years.
I was time for me to leave.
Cherry Hill presented itself as an opportunity -
    a chance for me to build a strong and active church.
Or, as I though, to try to dave a dying church.

I agreed to come ...
wondering how I would get through those summer months.

I don't know when I fell in love
    with the church.
At some point,
    as happens in the best ministries,
I moved from thinking of the church as 'their' church
    to thinking of it as 'our' church.
Two or three dozen people
told me what I had begun to feel:
that I was no longer a visitor,
    but had become a member of the family.
After four years, I was no longer referred to as 'the new minister'.
We had begun to accept and to trust.

Ministers are notoriously afraid
    of offending
    or of being disapproved.
One day, maybe about ten years ago,
I had the feeling I ws being accepted for who I was
although there were still those
determined, vigilant like,
    to tell me
    and anyone on the e-mail list
how I was failing.
A self-righteous minority
    which, in my experience, will be with you always.

Several occurrences stand out
    to mark the transition of the ministry
from suspicious and distrust to acceptance and trust.
They are among the high points of my ministry.

One factor was the congregation's willingness
    to take up and become involved
        in our relationship with our partner church
            in Szekelyderzs, Transylvania,
I am indeed aware
    that this is a project peculiarly
        of my interest.
Yet a couple dozen members of the congregation
    have expressed in energy and money
that this relationship has become their interest as well.

People have asked me if I have some ancestral or genetic connection
    with Romania or Hungary or Transylvania.
Once in a while someone observes
    that my canines ae curiously long and pointed ...
reminiscent, they suggest, of Vlad the Impaler.
Truth is
    to my knowledge
    I have no history in that part of Eastern Europe.
Furthermore, unlike Dracula,
    I am a vegetarian.

Our connection, as we observed
    when the partnership began,
was founded on the basis
    of common faith
and a need no one else was in the position to address.
I give us both the credit.
I certainly hope that this bond will continue
    strong and useful.

Other factors have also played a role
    in the creation of our connection.

In the first several years of my ministry,
custom prevailed
    and the minister was to know nothing
        and play no role
in church canvassing and fund-raising.
The arguments, here as elsewhere,
was that if the minister knew how people participated
    in the financial upkeep of the church
    the minister might retaliate
        against those who do not carry their share.
I have never known this to be true,
    but that was the articulated fear.
Keep the minister in the dark
    and you will be better served.
The same reasoning, I suppose,
    the same people use with doctors and accountants.

I remember observing at one point
    that I had participated in thirty some canvasses
    before I came to Cherry Hill.
I suspected I had more experience
    than anyone else in the congregation.
And yet I was excluded from the process
    to which I could contribute
    and which, inevitably, would affect my life and career.

After six or eight conversations to this effect,
gradually I was invited
    and my participation was, even, solicited.
Three or four years ago,
    with Ken Slight I was co-chair of the canvass.
All the secrets were revealed to me.
And nothing amiss or unministerially happened.

A third occurrence which may have marked
    a turning point in our shared ministry
was the fire. Coping with the fact of the fire and
more to the point, with the years of exile
    I think brought the church closer together ...
members with members,
members with staff ...
than any other event.
We learned and we knew
    that we needed one another
not only to survive
    (although surely this)
but to rise from the ashes.
Our first symbol, during those hard days,
ws that of a phoenix rising.

Sometimes I felt the congregation that was the phoenix.
Other times I was positive it was the minister
    who was rising from the ashes.

Nor incidentally:
    the staff members
    went to extraordinary lengths
as did many many volunteers
    to make our exile not just an occasion for survival
but a chance to grow as a community.
Our debt to these people can never be repaid.

What I hope, during this recounting
    of events of our ministry,
is a sense - sincere and enduring -
    of my profound gratitude
to have served as minister of this church.
I have been your minister
    longer than any of my predecessors;
I have served this church
    longer than I served any other,
My crowning ministry.

There are two other happenings
    I want to mention
which have formed and strengthened my ministry
    and certainly our church.

One is the effort, time, sensitivity and devotion
    which have gone into the creation
        of this building.
Every time I walk into the Commons
    or the Social Hall
    or especially this Sanctuary:
I am consumed by awe.

I am an inveterate materialism
I love the earth
    and I love the may forms of its - and our - creation.
The beauty and splendor of this building
    transports me
        as I hope it does you ...
today
    and every day you enter.
If Cherry Hill had this building thirty years ago
    when I brought that youth group:
I might never have gone home!

The building is not finished
    but it cannot be less.

I thank you for allowing me
    to walk with you
        into this room.

The final aspect of our church
    which has made my ministry
a cause for joy and satisfaction
has been the people
    who have composed this community.

I have said before
that one of the principal attractions
    of this church
when first I considered its ministry
was awareness of the love and respect
    with which its older members were treated.

At the time, I did not qualify
    (or at least did not think I qualified)
as an older member.

The septuagenarians and even octogenarians
who, over the years,
    have been part of the congregation ...
and especially the nonagenarians
    have been a blessing beyond imagination.
They have contributed to this congregation
    and, personally, to my life,
beyond measure.
They have been faithful
    and by their acts
they have taught us to be faithful.

But the church has not only been composed
    of senior folks.
As exciting as their presence has been,
so too has been the entrance and participation
of those one or two generations younger.
We have a lot to be thankful,
that we have such a wealth of people of all ages
    who are accepting,
    generous,
    flexible,
    devoted,
    loving.

My ministry has been a time of delight
            and reassurance.
because of your appreciation and support.

I am grateful ...
(have I told you I love you?)
I cannot wait to become you minister emeritus, D.D.