Inhospitability, considered further (2)

Neither visitors nor regular members of a church should be guilted into contributing money.  I “contributed” toward this kind of guilt inducement last Sunday myself, and I repent.  This post continues from yesterday’s.

I vaguely recall that Tommy, a fellow leader at a church in Texas years ago, was of the mind to link communion and collection even more solidly and inextricably than most–by intentionally connecting 1) what Jesus gave to 2) what we give.  On the surface, this seems as logical as it is spiritual.  What could motivate us more to give money but a fuller realization of the fact that Jesus gave it all?  Strains of gospel songs waft over the Christian airstreams:

Jesus paid it all!  All to Him I owe.
Sin had left a crimson stain.  He washed it white as snow.

~ ~ ~

But drops of grief can ne’er repay the debt of love I owe.

~ ~ ~

Savior, Thy dying love Thou gavest me.
Nor should I aught withhold, dear Lord, from Thee.
In love my soul would bow, my heart fulfill its vow,
Some off’ring bring Thee now–something for Thee.

~ ~ ~

Why did my Savior come to earth and to the humble go? …
Why did He drink the bitter cup of sorrow, pain, and woe? …
He gave His precious life for me because He loved me so.

~ ~ ~

I led the immediately preceding song last Sunday, and I’m afraid it contributed to a negative kind of guilt induction.  Follow the line?  “He gave His precious life” naturally leads, at that time in the official Sunday proceedings, to “well, at least I can give 50 bucks like everyone else.” This is not what the Lord had in mind with communion … and He doesn’t appear to have had anything in mind at all with regard to the Sunday collection of an offering, since there is no example of, or instruction related to, such an offering.

Perhaps the worst of all is the song I have led around communion and collection in past years (many churches would call this song the “offertory”):

I gave my life for thee; my precious bled I shed,
That thou might’st ransomed be, and quickened from the dead.
I gave, I gave my life for thee.
What hast thou given for me?

The crowning glory embarrassment is in the final stanza:

And I have brought to thee, down from My home above,
Salvation full and free–my pardon and My love;
I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee.
What hast thou brought to Me?

See what we have here, in the words of this song?  Jesus standing there in front of our adoring eyes, having left glory, having died lovingly and sacrificially, and having re-ascended to glory, now imploring us, “I gave my physical life willingly.  I gave you the salvation of your souls.  This is a lot.  Can’t you give money to Me?”  (In our warped, legacy-ridden minds, the “Me” of the last line is somehow morphed into “church treasury.”  Please don’t overlook this parenthesis; it is really quite material to these thoughts.)

Does Jesus want our money?  Well, yes.  But He wants so much more, and the monetary angle of the institutional church has been so corrupted through the centuries that I think it’s both logically and spiritually dangerous to link His gift to us only to our gift of money.

In themselves, the words of Frances Havergal’s song seem apt enough, almost unique, and worthy of the Christian’s time.  But not at the time of collecting money, as though we could possibly satisfy the debt we owe to our Lord by dropping a check in the plate.  Not as though our response to Him is summed up, or even answered in any substantive way, by offering money.

I’m sorry that, last Sunday, I went along with the program and led a song that contributed to a concept I don’t believe in.  I don’t intend to do that again, and I shall never, ever lead “I Gave My Life for Thee” in connection with the collection.

Inhospitability, considered further

Many moons ago, I published words to the effect that even hinting to a visitor in a church that s/he should contribute to that church’s bill-paying fund is inhospitable.  I find abhorrent the slightest glance in the direction of someone you don’t know, as you’re passing the collection plate.  (Find this earlier post here.)  No, let a person in a pew make the first move toward dropping money in the plate.  No usher or table servant should be in the position of demanding money.

I’d like to add to these thoughts the idea that even those within a church–even the regular members–should not be guilted into contributing.  I “contributed” toward this kind of guilt inducement last Sunday myself, and I repent.

In the Church of Christ, we have this odd legacy that leaves us with three parts of communion:  the bread, the juice, and the collection.  Many churches have been accustomed to making a point of separating the first two from the last through the use of the words “separate and apart,” but it really hasn’t been separate at all.  Some of this, I imagine, developed out of convenience:  those men serving the elements of communion were already up out of their pews and in their service mode, so why not just use them, right then and there, to pass the collection trays?  It’s efficient, and I get this.  But the feigning of separation–the silly declaration that it was separate when the reality was that it wasn’t separate at all–has not served our assemblies or our minds and hearts well.

On rare occasion, when I have been in charge of such things, I have made a point of switching up the order and having the collection first (understand that it would have been my first choice not to have it at all, and I’ve often inadvertently almost left it out, but it would have been too radical to do this intentionally!).  This change in pattern has never lasted; the linking of communion and collection in the practices of the Church of Christ now appears fixed.

Tomorrow:  guilt-inducing thoughts in song texts, and my vow

Tithing by choice (2 – practicalities)

This post jumps right on in to perhaps even more troubled waters after the toe-dipping of yesterday’s post.  I’d like to offer practicalities, philosophies, and other thoughts related to tithing and contributing.

Nowhere in all the New Covenant documents is the tithe enjoined upon believers.  Charitable giving is a choice—a good one, but a choice nonetheless.  Yes, “God loves a cheerful giver,” but He does not say, “First, love me.  Next, love your neighbor.  Third, give 10% of your money.”  The decision to give, and the percentage are up to the individual.

I once felt good about approaching 10% and even surpassing it over a fiscal year or two, way back when.  As I recall, more than half of this was given to Christian organizations other than my church, and that was because I found the church budget philosophically and practically wanting.  I would have been found in direct contradiction to scripture if scripture had any command for Christians to tithe, but it doesn’t.  (There is no Levitical priesthood in the church, so there is no reason to tithe.  That part of it really is that simple.)

Since then, I have had to feel good about smaller amounts.  It’s not easy, because I would like to give more to Christian and humanitarian charities I believe in.  If I had more of a surplus for daily living, I would give more.  Remember the widow with the two pennies, I try to tell myself in my discouragement.  But I still have questions.  Here are some more.

Should we “tithe” according to our pay schedules—every two weeks, on Fridays?  bi-monthly on the 15th and 30th? or every month, in some cases?

In calculating, does the 10% come off the top, or after tax?  Should we wait to calculate until after the final reckoning of the tax return? How can we know how we’ve “prospered” until after April 15? What would the institutional church do if no one paid the bills until sometime after April 15 every year?

Would the answer be different if paying taxes to Caesar were a choice and not exacted by mandated withholding?

What about tithing by credit card? (Although that might be convenient and get me “rewards” which I could then tithe based upon (!), it sure does seem cold and institutionalized.)

When a Christian college student receives a paycheck for $72.51 for two weeks of every-other-day work, does he exempt himself from tithing because he is a poor college student, or does he give $7.26 (rounding up would seem to be safer than cheating God out of a half-penny) to the collection plate next Sunday?  Does he hold Christians around him to a different tithing standard because they’re not college students?

When college students or foreign missionaries receive care packages from Aunt Sue or Martha Supportive, do they offer 10% of the cookies to poorer students or to indigenous neighbors?

Does contributing to the Red Cross or to Hope International or to the World Bible Translation Center “count” as part of your tithe?

Does an individual have the right or responsibility to approve or support the spending of the money she tithes?

This last question makes me think of the question of ownership of a retail establishment and spending money in that store.  For instance, at one time, a large grocery store chain was owned by Mormons.  Did buying a gallon of milk there give me the right to say “No, you can’t send a penny of my $2 to the LDS Church”?  Well, no, but it did give me pause about patronizing that store when I had a choice.)  In this age of mobility, global communication, and lots and lots of free choice, I figure I have some responsibility to be prudent in where I spend and contribute money.

If large portions of a church budget are allocated to salaries for staff positions I don’t believe in, or for physical plant/facilities, it makes me look elsewhere for a greater “return” on my dollar.  While this may seem overly humanistic and even crass in its monetary outlook, the alternative, for me, is a careless, thoughtless, or even halfhearted dropping of a check into a plate–which ends up being a gesture of upholding the status quo and religion’s establishments than a faith-based offering to advance God’s Kingdom.

All this would be pretty troubling if tithing were an in-force law, wouldn’t it?  :-)

~ ~ ~

For further reading:

1. This prior post, (which says some of the same things I’ve said above in different ways), and/or
2. This one on the inhospitable nature of church offerings, and/or
3. This brief article (not my own), with caution and with the caveat that I do not necessarily endorse its spirit or even the ramifications of the actions suggested therein.