A Generous Ask 

Generosity is the gift that we give to others, and to ourselves. The amount may vary, but being intentional about giving is a faith practice that shapes us.

I hated asking for money. This was my first problem. I was supposed to preach a stewardship sermon about giving generously and was barely giving any money to the church myself. This was my second problem. It is ineffective (and not fun) to ask people to give money to something that you are not financially supporting. This was my third problem. 

I was a new pastor, just months out of seminary. I was more than $70,000 deep in educational and credit card debt. To summarize: the sermon was not great. Not long after, the other pastor at the church where I served mentioned in his sermon that he and his spouse tithed 18% of their income back to the church. I was mired in shame. What does generosity look like when you’re not giving and feeling guilty? How do you think about giving to God when you don’t think you have anything to give?

Paul’s second letter to the church he founded in Corinth includes a fundraising report of sorts, as Paul seeks financial support for Christians in need. It’s normalizing that churches from the beginning of the Christian movement have been asking for money; we’re not the first ones to wrestle with this question.

But the question is complex. Paul raves about the goodness of the Macedonians (2 Corinthians 2:8) who gave generously even in their poverty. Well, good for them, but not everyone can give like a Macedonian and survive in the modern era. For one thing, extended family networks could have been more of a safety net than they are in current-day individualistic societies. We live in a world of high healthcare costs and inflation. Many people are just one job loss or medical catastrophe away from bankruptcy or homelessness. My own debt story wasn’t so dramatic: I was raised in a working-class family where there was no money for college, so I took out loans to make it happen. I had always thought that my extensive volunteering at the church was my gift to God. But was I supposed to be giving money too, even when I was in debt? Texts like this in scripture troubled me as a young adult. 

I eventually got married, which eased my financial situation, and I started giving more at church. But I still was a lousy stewardship preacher. Then, I got a dream job offer—to work at a synod (denominational) staff office. It had a flexible schedule, opportunities for travel, creative projects in collaboration with interesting people … and the responsibility to be the stewardship educator for my synod. Also, I was supposed to ask congregations to financially support the synod. Jesus, take the wheel. I nearly turned the job down. 

But I did not. I read books and attended workshops and learned from experts in the field. I made a lot of mistakes. Here was one of the first ones I made: when I went to “wealthy” congregations, I did talk about money and invite them to share with the synod and with other ministries in the area. But when I went to congregations in lower-income areas or where the members were primarily working class, I did not ask them to give, or if I did, I made it an apologetic suggestion. 

I was explaining this to a pastor-mentor, who looked at me and said: “Why would you take away someone’s opportunity to be generous?” Yikes. She was right. I had already dismissed people, based on assumptions, as unable or unwilling to give. That wasn’t my decision to make; it was at best ignorant and at worst insulting (and in some cases even racist). 

Why did those Macedonians give even when they were in poverty? Maybe in part because it was one thing no one had taken away from them. They had very little, but they still had the dignity of directing their paltry resources in a way that aligned with their values and passions. Paul adds that the Macedonians were “begging us earnestly for the favor of partnering in this ministry to the saints” (2 Corinthians 8:4). They wanted to give. Paul did not take that away from them. Brain scientists say that our brains can’t tell the difference between giving and receiving a gift—both are natural dopamine hits. The Macedonians gave and it felt good. 

In 2 Corinthians, Paul doesn’t just praise the Macedonians for their generosity, he grounds all generosity in the Source. “For you know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). The words translated as “generous act” are charis in Greek, which also means grace. In seminary I learned that when you see the word “grace” you can generally substitute “gift.” God has given us so much—life, love, forgiveness, wholeness and peace. Our generosity to others is grounded in the recognition of what God has first given us. It’s not about how much we give—even Paul says the gift is acceptable to what one has, not according to what one does not have (2 Corinthians 8:12). The point is understanding ourselves as ones who have received God’s grace in so many ways. Anchored in that abundant love, we are free to give as we can. 

I got a bit more comfortable in my role as stewardship educator and person-asking-churches-for-money. My personal giving inched up as the years went on, though I still carried educational debt (spoiler alert: I still do!) One summer, I attended a multi-day workshop for non-profit fundraising. During the workshop, we had to role play making a pitch and asking someone for a $10,000 gift; we took turns being the asker, the one being asked and the observer. When it was my turn to be asked, I listened to the pitch, asked some questions and then happily agreed to give $10,000 to their cause.

It was just a simulation, but it still felt good. No one had ever asked me—a person with three young kids, a mortgage and educational debt—for such a sum. I thought about what it would feel like to give away $10,000 to something that really mattered to me. For the first time, I imagined myself as a generous giver, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Soon after, my husband and I drew up a will. We named two Lutheran ministries in it, and every time I think about it, it makes me smile. That’s saying something: to give the gift requires that I die.

Generosity is the gift that we give to others, and to ourselves. The amount may vary—and it may be very small—but being intentional about giving is a faith practice that shapes us. We give because God first gave to us, and God gives us God’s grace, sufficient for each day.

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