Thank you, Steve, and good morning.

In the midst of the hoopla this past week about Vice Presidential debate strategies, about smaller and weaker financial institutions being swallowed by larger and stronger fish in the fiscal pool, about members of both parties in Congress falling all over themselves to congratulate each other for doing—finally—a small bit of what we actually pay them to do, and even about the criminal conviction of a former professional football player and sometimes double-murderer for the armed theft of sports memorabilia in a seedy hotel room—

Amidst all of that, there was a story that went largely unnoticed, eclipsed by the larger—but certainly no more intriguing—news of the week. I suspect that you may have missed it. I actually hope that you did.

It seems that eight days ago—last Saturday, the 27th of September—a Ukranian ship carrying tanks and ammunition was seized off the coast of Kenya, its cargo stolen, and its crew—17 Ukranians, three Russians, and a singular Lithuanian—were kidnapped—by pirates.

Now the ship, a vessel called the Faina, flying a Belize flag, was headed to the Kenyan port of Mombassa after departing from Nikolayev, in the Ukraine, several days earlier.

It was set upon by—pirates—not far from its destination—a troubling development, to be sure, that was likely even more upsetting for both the Ukranian and the Kenyan Governments—because the captain of the Faina had deliberately charted and pursued a route far from the coast of Somalia, where these seagoing ne’er-do- wells are known to operate.

Colonel Konstantin Sadilov, a spokesman for the Ukranian Defense Ministry, assured the world that all of the power and majesty of his international anti-terrorist commission in Kiev is being brought to bear to, as he said:

“Analyze the situation and consult with both military and security experts to determine exactly what should be done about these pirates”—and, presumably, their new-found riches.

In the meantime, a Russian patrol ship called the Neustrashimy (Yes, I’ve been practicing these pronunciations since last Wednesday)—is now storming its way toward the Somalian coast, most certainly looking to pick a fight.

And Russian Navy Commander Admiral Vladimir Vystsky told CNN that Russia may soon be sending combat ships to the coastal waters in that region to address once and for all this thorny problem with pirates.

Shiver me timbers.

Well, to be fair, this is almost certainly a more serious occurrence that I have made it out to be—what with tanks and ammunitions falling into hands even worse than those of their manufacturers—or their buyers.

But, more important, what does any of this have to do with a legitimate, thoughtful “reflection on church membership”? (Is Steve suddenly looking apprehensive?)

Here it is: After I stopped grinning over the surely inaccurate image of men with hooks for arms and wooden pegs for legs, firing hot cannonballs across the waters of the eastern Atlantic, after I purged that cartoon from my rumination, it struck me that this second-rate story about a third-rate group of thugs is actually the near-perfect vehicle for the delivery of two discrete but much-related musings on the life and the livelihood of the First Congregational Church of Wauwatosa.

First, the one that’s crass and undiplomatic—the one that will have all of us shifting uncomfortably in our seats.

There are pirates at our door. No, they’re not the kind with wise-cracking parrots on their shoulders.

But they are the kind that, left unchecked, threaten—and tear—the fabric of this place. And bad things happen then.

An unbalanced church budget for this fiscal year, unquestionably compelled by the simple circumstances of arithmetic, struck most of us as a matter of modest concern and gentle curiosity when we first heard about it.

Like my tongue-in-cheek reaction to the winsome tale of some 21st-century pirates sailing along the African coast, we permit ourselves to believe that it’s not all that important—certainly one of those things that pales in measurement against the more immediate and threatening criminals and crimes of our lives.

Somehow—somehow—it will be taken care of.

And by it I mean just this: Simply not enough money to support indefinitely—well, no, immediately, right now—all of the things that we call collectively this church:

The roof. The furnace. The windows. The plaster.

Our place in this community. Our open doors to youth gatherings and support groups and associations of people who meet and practice and do their business here just because they feel welcome in this building.

Our connection to the poor of the greater Milwaukee area and to the peoples of countries in the greater hemisphere in which we live.

Our leadership posture in the larger church community—Congregationalists, yes, but also those of all faiths—local, regional, and international—who recognize and revel in a God who continues to have for all of us great expectations.

Our fellowship dinners. Our special Advent and Lenten programs. Our adult education. Our youth development. Our Sunday Schooling.

Our music. Our voices. Our administrators. Our ministers. Our human assets of truly immeasurable value.

The pirates of financial inadequacy, of unsatisfied debt, of potential loss—of all of that—are no longer firing; they’ve boarded the ship.

But you already know that: You’ve read the reports and letters from our church leadership, you’ve gotten and digested the thoughtful missives from our caring Senior Minister, and you’ve probably even gotten yourself into some colorful discussions—just like those filling the air in and around the United States Capitol for the past two weeks—about how we got here and how we should best steer our ship clear of this unpleasant sea.

Now we—you and I (more than the mere 14 pledging families among us who have responded to this time)—need to do something.

The complacency that inhabits you and me—a complacency borne of the simple fact that, to this day and this hour, the ship is still afloat and in the steerage of the good guys—that complacency is not us.

We can and we must do better. And we can and we must do better for a second reason.

The 21-man crew of the Faina remains captive. Yes, they will likely be released, perhaps substantially unharmed, when the Ukrainian—or perhaps even the Kenyan or the Russian—Governments pay some ransom. But for now, they are hostages.

And until we ransom here, we, too, are captive. But that is not who we are, either.

We are, instead, a church of love and hope and care and support and compassion—

When sons and daughters fall ill or into harm’s vicious way or even die in cycles outside of natural.

When brothers and sisters fail in marriages and partnership relationships, and falter—even crumble—under debt and joblessness.

When friends and colleagues wrestle with mental illness or mere sadness over life’s misfortune—opportunities forgone and aspirations abandoned.

When a spouse confronts finally her homosexuality and wrestles perhaps imperfectly with all of the life changes that come with that—and another spouse receives a life-changing diagnosis of metastatic cancer or incurable cardiac disease.

When mothers and fathers age and decline and compel the reversal of roles—child to parent, parent to child—and so force us to confront the profundity of mortality.

When love leaves…

This church does not. It stays. It is the patrol ship that storms to our rescue and our salvation.

And it revels, too, in all of the joy and effervescence, the exploration and discovery, the growth and intellectualism, the fellowship and care, and the humor and laughter—

All of those things that define us and make us human and so very much alive.

That is the besieged ship that we defend—against the marauding threat that would take us hostage and sell us into something less than what we are today.

Ransom captive Israel.

And so as we eat and drink in worldwide communion this morning, let us all, each of us, commit to another, supplemental, thoughtful assessment of the value of this place—to ensure that it remains what it is today, in this time, for us and for our children and their children and their children.

For all of them, pirates should remain in storybooks.