by Meredith McNabb

There’s a famously complicated concept in common law that means that many older wills, trusts, and other legal documents wound up including a boilerplate clause saying that the trust, etc. would end “21 years after the death of the last living survivor of Queen Elizabeth II who was alive when the trust was created.”  Unless you’re a history buff or studying for the bar exam, this likely doesn’t matter much to you—but the whole point of the legal complexity that built up around this “rule against perpetuities” was that, as a matter of policy, our ancestors in the common law tradition did not think it was beneficial for individuals to be able to control resources forever.  Over many centuries, there came to be an understanding that tying up one’s property the way one wished after one’s lifetime was all right for a while—and with such a long life as Queen Elizabeth had, perhaps even a very long time—but not actually in perpetuity.  At some point, resources should be freed up for current uses, not frozen by the wishes of the long-departed.

A Gift That Lasts Forever

The legalities are mostly quite different—but the underlying question might also be helpful in congregations and religious organizations as they invite gifts and commit resources to endowments and other “perpetuating” funds. To what extent do we (and our givers) wish to control the future, and to what extent can we and should we do so?   Even outside of religious circles, there’s a growing movement (for instance, “Half My DAF”) among those engaged in high-capacity personal and organized philanthropy to encourage people and foundations to put their accumulated resources to use beyond what’s been traditionally done or required by law.

There’s something stirring about being able to invite a giver to make a gift that lasts “forever.”  It can open up a heartfelt and deeply meaningful vision for how one can make a transformative difference for an organization, a cause, or a community even after one’s death.  Such an invitation paints a picture of how, over time, with the so-called ‘miracle of compound interest,’ a gift in the present era multiplies itself many times over as time stretches forward (for the historically inclined, Benjamin Franklin’s estate gifts to Boston and Philadelphia are a fascinating example.) Furthermore, a gift that lasts forever expands our imaginations past the horizon of our own limited lifespans and lets us turn our attention—and even stretch our participation, in a way—into eras we otherwise wouldn’t touch.  For religious communities, the legacy left by one’s ancestors is often particularly treasured as a faith practice, and gifts that can empower that legacy are honored and valued by descendants far beyond just monetary considerations.

Maybe Not Forever, Exactly

On the other hand—forever is a very long time, and our imaginations, in fact, do not stretch that far with very much clarity.  Faith communities live with a longer time frame than many, as sacred texts and beliefs enlarge our imaginations beyond ourselves and our kin in important ways, not to mention so many references in the Abrahamic traditions to God’s timeframe of extending covenant and blessing for “a thousand generations.”  But all kinds of contemporary writers observe that within three or four generations, nearly everyone, regardless of how renowned, is forgotten—and even the psalms and other sacred writings point out that iniquities are forgotten after that same three or four generations.  Our poetry stretches to “forever,” but in practice, we don’t quite mean “forever.” (In fact, the statutory replacements for the “rule against perpetuities” above often say 125 years is how long one can control the relevant resources.)

What does this all mean for congregations and religious organizations considering endowments?  The leaders of one congregational endowments webinar recently began their talk saying something very close to “We can help you ensure that your congregation exists in perpetuity”—which seems like quite a statement to make!  Should our congregations actually be making plans for their existence in the year 2400?  Or 3400?  One wonders if what they really meant was actually a word of encouragement about ways to stretch their imaginations and their resources beyond day-to-day budget crunches and year-to-year uncertainties and to turn their minds to thinking about their plans and vision for 2040, and just maybe 2080.

Endowments Don’t Guard Against Change

Endowment resources for congregations and religious organizations can be a tremendously empowering blessing. They let future generations do things they couldn’t otherwise do, and they can create buffers for lean seasons, cushions for big-ticket repairs and long-term upkeep of buildings, and other capital resources. There are under-resourced but deeply vital congregations and organizations that would benefit hugely from the development of perpetuating—if not so much perpetual—resources. (See the endowment disparities revealed in the National Study of Congregations’ Economic Practices across religious traditions that reflect wider economic disparities.)

All of that is a powerful and positive vision for inviting donors to consider making gifts and for guiding those in the organization who steward the funds now and will steward them in generations to come.  Those gifts can be freedom and fuel for those who will follow in the future.  But religious leaders have an opportunity and an invitation to help their congregations and organizations consider that none of us can control the future, and that endowments do not actually guard against change.  No need at all to dissect the rule against perpetuities with would-be donors—but what a good opportunity to talk about legacy, vision, and one’s religious tradition’s beliefs about hope, trust, providence, and any number of other spiritual and theological categories in conversations about gifts and resources.