As we saw in Shelby, an exemplary financial commitment--one that is both meaningful to the individual and significant relative to their financial means--can set the pace for an entire community. Such a commitment serves to encourage others by example, rather than by advice. That was just as true for the factory workers and the waitress as it was for such community leaders as Bob Lederer.
What can happen when people take stock of what their investments have meant to them as individuals, and even perhaps acknowledge the moral leadership they have shown?
Barney Saunders, a Harvard alum, was vice chair of the largest privately-held company in the world. Kathy Wells and I met up with Barney in St. Paul, Minnesota, where he had just become chair of the board of Hamline University. (We last encountered Kathy some pages ago, working with the Cathedral Foundation in Jacksonville.) The university was in the early stages of preparing for a capital campaign, and Kathy and I were there to work with them in laying the groundwork.
Kathy interviewed Barney, in the spirit of this book, about his experiences as a contributor. Because the interview was on behalf of a university, she also asked him about his experiences with learning. She was curious to find out what might be at the heart of his deep connection with the university's mission and work, and what his highest hopes were for society.
We all know such questions are rare in the field of "fundraising," which tends to be more focused on the programs and "needs" of an organization than on the experiences, hopes, and dreams of the individual.
After the interview Barney was scratching his head. "Something happened here, but I don't know what it was."
After reflecting on the experience through several talks with the university's vice president, he concluded: "Harvard has asked me, they've asked me many times--but always for money. Neither Harvard nor any other organization has ever asked what's important to me. Hamline will get all of my money, and Harvard will get no more."
Barney went on to make a contribution of such financial and moral significance that it set the pace for the largest capital campaign by far in the university's history. So much momentum was created that the university increased the goal. At last count, the campaign had gone beyond even that mark.
And I saw on Barney's face that same little smile I'd seen on the streets of Shelby.
When something so transformative happens for a person, it also shifts how they think about raising money. Barney saw that it was he who had received a gift: the opportunity to reflect on the meaning of his contributions--and even on the meaning of his life.
"This is how I want to treat others," he said. "All trustees should be interviewed as I was, not for what more they can do for the university, but as a gift to them for what they've already done."
Barney expanded my understanding of the importance of focusing on meaning--the individual's dreams for themselves and for society--and lifting up confidence and self-efficacy. Such actions activate the built-in desire to invest oneself in society, and do so in a way consistent with our aspirations for the world.
In the end, money follows meaning.