El-ROI
vs. el-roi, or “The Church Is Always Asking for My Money!”:
Some
Random Thoughts on Stewardship
I am curious about some of the ways the church – and
church people – talk about stewardship. It seems to me that much of this
conversation might be misplaced or even downright wrong. Here are some
examples:
#1: “I give
because God has blessed me, and I want to (or I feel like I should) give back.”
This is an especially strong sentiment in middle- to higher-income communities.
And don’t get me wrong – it’s a fairly holy start.
However, it also is
grounded in a troubling theological assumption. Namely, if I have a sizable
income, home, bank account, and pension fund, this must somehow be due to the
gracious intervention of a benevolent God.
While this might be an
okay place to start (it sure beats “I earned it all on my own!”), it leaves
many people of good faith curious about why God has not so richly blessed all les misérables living in poverty or
un-/under-employed in Milwaukee - or cursed to live desperately impoverished
lives in failed states like Haiti or Zimbabwe. And, interestingly, while the
evidence is mixed, some studies indicate that people who are closer to economic
suffering in their own lives and/or immediate communities are (relatively
speaking) more generous in their giving to religious organizations than those
who live in well-heeled communities and countries.
In any event, when I
consider all the wealth and stuff I have at my disposal, I find it’s more
helpful to use the language of “privilege” rather than “blessing.” And
privileges, while enjoyable if you have them, are not the things of God.
#2: “The church
needs my money to survive/persist (let alone thrive).” On one level,
this is entirely true. Your local congregation cannot exist in its current
manifestation (full-time pastor(s) and other staff, building, etc.) without our
shared financial resources. And as one who can only feed my family because of
the generosity of the folks among whom I am ministry, I am profoundly grateful
to all those folks who fill the churches’ coffers. At the same time,
sustainability and survival are not inherently Christian values. Everything
dies: people, organizations, etc. None of this is “sustainable” in the long
view. And if your congregation can no longer afford your pastor, s/he will move
on to another place. And your congregation might, or might not, continue to
exist. And s/he may or may not find another place that can sustain her/him and
her/his family. These are real questions – and important ones…
and, the Gospel,
somehow, will survive it all...in some form. After all: the Gospel survived the
Middle Ages; it can surely survive this. And if it cannot, then it wasn’t
really worth it in the first place. (And I, for some reason, still believe that
it is.)
#3: “I give in
other ways.” Time and talent and so forth. Absolutely! The church
doesn’t just need money to persist in ministry – it needs bodies and voices and
muscles and creativities and grunt work and a lot of people’s time – perhaps even
more than it needs their money. These gifts are impossible to monetize
(although some have tried)…
and, I think it
may be helpful to move beyond what “we” need and what “I” personally give
(financially or otherwise). The reality is we live in a commodified society,
and if we desire to have congregations of faith that have places to gather and
leaders to lead them, it will take some greenbacks as well as some time
and talent.
More importantly,
however, is the simple fact that stewardship is way more (or, rather, something entirely different) than what
“we” need and what “I” have to give. Whenever it’s about “me,” there’s a fairly
decent chance that we’re off the rails already.
#4: “I want to know my money is going to a
good cause – that it’s being put to good use.” Trust me: I’m a big fan
of transparency and good administration. I think it’s important that people
know that what we do with our shared resources is well-ordered (or at least
well-intentioned), prudent, and appropriately cautious. In my scant 7 years of
ministry, I have horror stories to tell about mismanaged funds and squandering
of resources.
I’m also inspired by stories that can be told about
the impact the church is able to make with the shared resources we have at our
disposal: how many people are fed, how many kids are being nurtured in faith,
how many congregations are being started, how many lives are being touched, how
many missionaries we are sending into the mission field... and on and on. This
is all very well and good. Especially when it is expressed in giving more of
our shared resources away to the larger body to which we belong. We are,
absolutely, better together.
At the same time, this
all seems quite, well, capitalist in
its phrasing. Or, at the very least, it seems very much like “works righteousness.”
While numbers are interesting – and occasionally important – barometers of how
we are “doing,” they are still bound up in the narrative of self-justification
and self-righteousness. Our value is determined by what we “accomplish” – our
“success.” If I can’t see that this venture I’m contributing to is “successful”
(according to some helpful, and some very arbitrary, measurements), then I’m
not sure it’s worth supporting with my money.
I call this God
El-ROI - the God of Return-on-Investment.
I’m curious: How
“successful” was the ministry that Jesus was involved in? What numbers
justified the commitment he asked of his followers (i.e., total commitment of life
and limb)? Or when we consider that none of the churches that were
planted, inspired, and/or supported by the Apostle Paul is still in existence
today (even within 100 years of their beginnings), could we then conclude that
these ventures were not a good use of the time, energy, and financial resources
of those who were saved by and committed to the Gospel in Corinth, Philippi,
Thessalonica, or Rome? or of Paul himself? Is the question of stewardship
really, at its heart, a question of “efficacy,” “success,” “achievement,” or
“Return-on-Investment”? If so, then I’m left to wonder: Where is the cross?
#5: “The church is
always asking for my money!” This is not a stewardship philosophy, per se, but rather a commonplace
complaint – and one that begs exploration. And on the one hand, it’s absolutely
true: The church is always asking for money. Every Sunday, we pass the
hat. And, of course, there is the death-by-a-million-bake-sales-and-labeled-pickle-jars
way we piecemeal and nickel-and-dime folks. Some give, some don’t. Some give
every week, some give electronically, some give sporadically, some don’t give
at all. And based on that, we meet our financial obligations (or not…and then
we figure something else out).
I’m well aware that lots
of folks hate thinking and talking about money, especially in “these economic
times…” And no one wants to feel like “you have to pay to pray.” The church is
an open community where people of any and all economic means can (and should)
be called, invited, and welcomed to gather to give thanks and praise to God, to
receive the Body of Christ and the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and to be
sent out into the world to serve all people and strive for justice and peace.
Financial giving should not be a yardstick by which we measure one’s worthiness
to have access to God’s gifts for God’s people.
And, let’s dig a little deeper. Is it not true that all kinds of things/institutions/people
are always asking for my money? Consider my example:
Every month I pay a mortgage (actually, two of them).
How dare those nasty banks ask me monthly for my money – for a house I no longer actually live in?! (Note:
many of our members have “cottages” [really, second homes] up North or “snowbird”
homes down South. Most of them, I presume, pay mortgages on both of their
addresses.)
Every week (or more often, with two kids) I go to the
grocery store to procure food and sundries to sustain my family. How dare the
Metro Market ask me for money for something so basic as eggs and toilet paper!
Every month, US Cellular takes a fairly large chunk
out of my bank account so that my family can have the privilege of having two
smartphones with which to stay in touch with people near and far (and play
countless digital games of cribbage). Seriously???
We do not have a home phone. We also do not have cable
– but depending on your preference and packaging, cable or dish will run you
anywhere from $40 to $100/month (or more).
We now pay for
swimming lessons for our four year old. And later this summer, she’ll be in a
dance class. I know folks in our congregation whose kids play hockey. The cost
for equipment, fees, travel, and ice time can quickly become fairly
astronomical. I know folks who belong to gyms (I sort of envy them...). I have
a colleague who’s really into Crossfit. Fitness can get really expensive really
fast. And I won’t even begin to estimate what many of our country-club-belonging
folks pay for their dues.
We have a $220 payment
each month on a loan for the car we purchased last year so that we could have
safe transportation for us and our children.
So, in light of all
the various competing interests that are “always asking for money,” let’s do
the math:
The congregation I
serve has approximately 120 “actually active” households. (By that I mean they
are in worship once per month at least. I assume most of them give something, although I do not make a
habit of having access to that information.)
We have a budget that
“requires” about $255,000 to break even.
That means, we “need”
about $2,125 per year from each actually active household to break even.
That’s around $177 per month.
(Note: The median household income for this zip code
is $99,123. At 10% [the “almighty tithe”], we could dream of an average annual
contribution of $9,912 per household [$826 per month]. If every household gave
that much, we’d have an income stream of $1,189,440. Imagine that!!)
We have many members
who give much more than $177/month. We have many more members who give much
less. (Oddly enough, my cellphone bill is right about $177 per month.)
So here’s the deal: Lots of entities with whom I am
in relationship ask me (demand!) for my (and my neighbors’) money. All the
time. Some more than $177 per month. Some less.
Which makes me wonder:
Even
if we’re only considering El-ROI (the God of Return-On-Investment), is belonging
to and giving to the church worth it
or not? Or, to the point, is it more or less worth it
than giving my money to any other entity that regularly, doggedly
asks for it?
I can’t argue much
with the need for food and shelter. That’s fairly basic - and while some might
argue that these things are so basic that they should be guaranteed/provided by
the community/society in which we live, I think most of us would say it’s fair
and reasonable that the grocery store asks for some money before we roll a cart
full of produce out the door.
But is it also true
that it is more important or worthwhile...
-for my kids to be
trained into an uber-achievement sports and entertainment culture...
-for me to have
24-hour access to re-runs of Law and
Order and Project Runway...
-for me to have a
phone that can brush my teeth and show me pictures of kittens doing stupid/cute
stuff, while I’m stopped at a red light...
-to have a car that’s
nicer/safer/prettier than my last one...
-etc…
than it is for me to
participate in shaping and maintaining a community of people whose lives are
grounded in the Gospel of Jesus Christ?
Even if El-ROI is the
Almighty whom we worship, it seems to me that $177/month is, in fact, worth it (and, at the risk of boasting, our
household gives considerably more than $177/month to our church). It’s worth it to have a place where...
-I can be taken out of
myself, out of the culture of rabid awesomeness and self-justification; a place
that will take my world and my family and myself and work to re-form them into
the image of the Crucified One.
-educated leaders (in
this case, my spouse and myself) can help a community be good stewards of the
deep, wide, and rich traditions we have received from our ancestors.
-my children will not
be judged based on their cuteness, intelligence, athletic prowess, fashion
sense, physical or mental abilities... and on and on.
-people will be sent
to visit me when I’m sick to remind me that I’m not alone, where they will challenge
me to be a more just and gentle person and encourage me to invite other weird
and broken and lonely people into the Body.
-I will be fed (at
least weekly) with the Body and Blood - to have the opportunity for Jesus to be
swallowed into my belly so that I might be changed from the inside out.
Even one of
those things is more meaningful and worthwhile to me than 1,000 episodes of Honey Boo Boo. Way more.
And yet, here, still,
I’m caught up in the worship of El-ROI, that is, the question of “is it worth
it?” And that is precisely the point.
When it comes down to
it, when I shake off the dead skin of the El-ROI cult into which I have been
apprenticed, I realize that the gift of giving to the church is powerful and
effective precisely because it helps God put El-ROI to death. As a
friend of mine recently wrote: “Christian liturgy is the most powerful tool to
subvert and undermine the cult of capitalism.” Indeed, and Amen. Capitalism might
work as a way of ordering our secular economy (the jury is still out on that
one), but it is deadly when it creeps into our spiritual and religious life.
And liturgy helps subvert this deadly influence.
The passing of the
plate is precisely this kind of subversive act.
It is not about El-ROI, the God of
Return-on-Investment.
It’s not an
expression of how I feel about my pastor, my church, or even my God. It’s not a
gracious and grateful “return” or “refund” of some of what “God has given me.”
It’s not an
obligation or a sacrifice or a duty.
It is an
invitation to a way of living in a wholly different relationship with the
“stuff” I have at my disposal.
It is an
opportunity to acknowledge that none of this “stuff” has much of a shelf-life
(and neither, frankly, do I), so, what the heck?: Let’s give it away and be
grateful that we’re being given a life and worth and value that will extend far
beyond the lifespan of our bodies, stock portfolios, and real estate.
It is a
chance to thumb our noses at the establishment that makes us slaves to the
almighty dollar, the holy scholarship, the esteem and worth that is bestowed
upon us (or not) by our vapid and vainglorious culture.
It is an
opportunity to see Jesus show up in my bank statement - right there, next to
the other charities I support and wedged in between all the trips to Taco Bell,
the grocery store, and the gas station - reminding me that God doesn’t just
want to be a part of my life for an hour on Sunday: God wants to infiltrate and
overturn and bless and magnify and redeem my life seven days a week.
It is a
reminder that in a world full of useless (but often quite alluring) gods, I
have been claimed and named and chosen and called by the only One who really
knows what is real - eternally, abundantly real.
In Genesis 16, we
receive one of the first and most ancient names for God in the Bible: “El-Roi.”
This name was given to God by Hagar, the slave woman who was cast out into the
wilderness to starve and thirst (along with her infant child) when it was no
longer convenient to have her hanging around in Abraham’s camp and house with
Abraham’s “real” wife and son.
The God of Isaac (the
“real” son) shows up to give Hagar and her child Ishmael a glimmer of hope in
the form of fresh water in the dry, desolate wilderness. This is not simply
water, but rather a promise that even this half-caste slave child will sire
a mighty nation that will share in some kind of gracious promise from God. And
when God does this for even her and him, Hagar has the audacity
to give this strange God of her even stranger former master a name: el-roi. That is, “God sees.”
Even this poor woman and child, cast off into the dry desolation of the desert,
are seen by God. The God who sees is looking out for and ruling above
and making Godself present among all people, all the time.
So when our worth and
value are beholden to El-ROI - the God who tells us that our goodness is
dependent upon our individual or collective production value - we are called to
shuffle off that mortal coil and worship el-roi instead: The God who sees us.
The God who has seen our past and loves us anyway. The God who sees our future
and loves us anyway. The God who sees us as we decide whether or not to go to
worship or throw something into the coffer when the plate is passed.
This, el-roi, is our God. And this God
is worthy to be praised. Whether or not it makes any material difference in our
material lives. Because without this God, we would all be nothing. Nothing at
all.
And yet, with
this God, we have everything we could ever really need - whether we have what
we want or not.
And that’s reason
enough to give at least as much as I give to have the privilege of
playing cribbage on my phone while I’m waiting in line at the grocery store and
having endless digital access to old episodes of Saved by the Bell.
