A long time ago in what certainly feels like a galaxy far, far away, I was talking to a pastor of a vibrant, young church and somehow the topic of money came up. He told me that when the offering bags got passed on Sunday mornings, he really wanted to announce, “Put money in if you can and take money out if you need it.”
He hadn’t ever actually done it; his faith wasn’t quite there. Regardless, the very idea really challenged me. Just let someone reach in and take money?
I was used to giving money to church. I was also used to giving money to help meet people’s needs.
But I wasn’t used to the church giving its money to help meet needs.
That’s something I actually saw very little of.
Aside from the obligatory costs of facilities and salaries, money was primarily used to start new churches, hire interns to help convert more people, and put on events meant to bring new people into the fold.
The argument was that we were meeting people’s eternal needs. Clearly, saving people’s souls from a post-mortem lake of fire was the most responsible use of funds. And for anyone on the fence about that, there were frequent reminders that Jesus said the poor would always be among us.
So reaching into a bag and taking money out appeared to undermine the most important need. Never mind the fact that it seemed simply irresponsible. What if the person taking the money wasn’t truly in need?
Even though every rational part of me fought against this idea, something deep inside tugged at my heart. It’s as though a still, small voice was saying it was the right thing to do. And yet, I never thought I’d experience it.
Flash forward about 12 years. To when I did experience it. Quite unexpectedly.
A church practicing radical generosity – at the corporate level, though I hate to use that terminology – with no strings attached. No hoops to jump through. No case to be made. No panel required to deem whether a given need is legitimate or the recipient worthy.
Radical generosity where the bottom line is “We’re trusting God.”
It leaves me unsure how to respond.
Just like years before when presented with the idea of taking money from the offering bag, the rigid, Type-A part of me wants to say “No! That’s irresponsible! What if people take advantage? ”
But there’s another part of me – the part that gets goose bumps – that screams “Yes!” What an incredible display of unconditional love. Of trusting God. Of faith.
And yet, this is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I’m not going to make blanket statements about radical generosity vs. tight purse strings, as if one was clearly right and one was clearly wrong. The issue of money and church is a complicated one.
But, regardless of right vs. wrong or responsible vs. irresponsible, I began to ponder how the money situation can be a thought-provoking and powerful reflection of the perspectives we hold on God’s love.
Do we believe God’s love is abundant, generous, and available to everyone with no strings attached and regardless of how ugly a person’s situation might be at any given point in time? Does God’s love transcend circumstances and boundaries? Does it reach through the muck and mire to embrace us right where we are?
Or is it tightly controlled and monitored, a contractual agreement of sorts where it’s doled out in its fullness only if a figurative application has been properly submitted with satisfactory answers to essay questions (think “conversion”) and as long as the recipient remains a member in good standing?
I’ve spent most of my life in the second camp, even though I didn’t consciously realize it. I would’ve probably argued otherwise.
In fact, it’s only when confronted with starkly different experiences – the mere idea of a pastor who wants to tell people to reach in and take money from an offering bag and ultimately the sucker punch of a church that actually practices that level of trust and abundant generosity – that I even began to consider that there are two camps.
And for the first time ever, I started to reflect on the irony of having spent much of my life in churches that are far from generous even though they’re made up of generous people.
It’s an incredibly awkward dichotomy.
But I’m thrilled to be leaning into this new experience and allowing it to re-shape my understanding of God and of what’s holy and divine.
And in the process, hopefully I can rise to the challenge of adopting a true heart of radical generosity myself.