What money won't buy; seminary fund raising - Column

Christian Century, Feb 2, 1994 by Shriver Donald W., Jr.

SOON AFTER I became a seminary president, a major donor said to me, "Remember, when you ask for money you are offering donors a privilege. You are offering them a chance to become part of something bigger than themselves, something more than their money can buy." The truth of the remark has stuck with me. In the ministry we tend to be shy about money. We may preach an annual sermon on the joy of giving for the needs of others, but we often lack the conviction and the dignity to say quietly to prospective donors, "Your money will be useful to us, but by giving you will be buying something that is priceless."

Of course, "simony," the attempt to buy sacred or spiritual things, is an affront to the grace of God. Peter tells Simon in Acts 8, "May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain the gift of God with money!" But though this is a great text, it diverts one's attention from some truths about human relations and institutions, most of them spelled out eloquently by Paul in 2 Corinthians 8-9. There we read of the Macedonian Christians who "begged...for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints," and of Pauls assurance that anyone participating in the project "will be enriched in every way for great generosity."

I think of this as an empirically tested truth. Some years ago an eminent psychiatrist remarked in a speech, "The greatest secret of mental health comes down to us in the words, `Whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life... will save it.' I forget who said that, but it is a great truth." Too bad! Who said it is as important as what was said. At minimum, theological schools are concerned with remembering who said what, and why some sayings are more worth remembering than others. Churches and seminaries protect us from a fatal forgetting of the God who gives us "life abundant." We live by that gift; we can't buy it.

With enough money, educational institutions can be rounded and operated. But no sane billionaire would think that he or she could simply buy a replica of Harvard University or Howard University. Such institutions have a wealth of tradition, faculty, books, students, and intangible resources that are beyond price. In raising the money to renovate the Burke Library at Union Theological Seminary in the 1980s, for example, we could say without boasting that during the course of its 150 years it had become the premier theological library in the Americas, and that gifts to preserve it were ways of thanking scholars and teachers who, though long dead, still speak in those 700,000 books. Those of us who take part in raising more than $100 billion a year in the "voluntary sector" of American society should not be apologetic about knocking on the doors of potential donors. We offer them a lot for their money. Indeed, we offer them what money cannot buy.

People give to theological education because they are convinced that it is important. A good case for the training of ministers could be made in sheerly secular terms by considering the social and political ills mitigated by the ministry Of certain churches and certain church leaders. But the practical services of churches to society are rooted in a set of convictions. Who within hailing distance of the troubled neighborhoods of our cities does not know how much worse they would be without the centuries-long, stubborn presence of black congregations? In August 1992 the "MacNeil-Lehrer News Hour" broadcast a 15-minute segment on the work of the Bethel AME Church in Baltimore, pastored by Frank Reid, a graduate of Harvard Divinity School. Black men and women, black young people and children are getting saved in every good sense of the word by the ministry of that church. On those occasions when I have wondered if the millions of dollars spent every year by the more than 200 American seminaries are well spent, I think of the cluster of Union graduates who are holding at bar the evils that confront them in the ghettos of our cities: Calvin Butts in central Harlem, Gary Simpson in Brooklyn, Sujay Johnson in Chinatown and Carolyn Knight in East Harlem, not to speak of Jim Forbes at Riverside in New York, Joseph Roberts in Atlanta, Marvin McMickle in Cleveland and Madison ShocKley in Los Angeles. For helping to train such distinguished ministers, almost any amount of money is justified.

To make such a claim, one must have faith in the purposes of Christian ministry, however weak and fallible many ministers may be. The majority of donors to theological education give for theological reasons. The strength of their faith, their hope for the church, and their confidence in us as theological educators are sometimes humbling indeed. But the humility must not be overdone: we must take pride in the teaching, administration and money-raising of seminaries. Perhaps the proper blend of humility and pride is best expressed in Paul's image of "treasure in earthen vessels." Care for the treasure implies care for the containers.