Change In Attitude

FROM THE RECTOR

For most of my life, I worried about money. I grew up in a family that bought summer clothes in October and winter coats in April. Most of my sports coats and dress pants came from Goodwill. That was one way that my parents were thoughtful and intentional with their financial resources. We could have bought name-brand clothes from the department store—and there were plenty of adolescent years when I wish we did—but our family chose to do different things with our money. By shopping from the clearance rack or at thrift stores, however, my parents modeled for me a set of financial values that also conveyed some unintended consequences.

I grew up with a sense that money was tight—that we had to watch our spending carefully or else we would not have enough. I look back and realize that was not at all the case and see how my parents never did or said anything to convey an attitude of scarcity—even and especially when things really were tight—but I carried some of that worry with me through school, into college, and on to seminary, where that worry became a problem.

As you would imagine, seminarians are expected to be cheerful givers, but I did not find anything cheerful about giving my money away. I always felt like I had to choose between doing what I was expected to do and having enough money. It turns out that that was not the case at all, but I could not see it. A friend of mine in seminary always stopped by the ATM on the way to church on Sunday nights to withdraw what, to me, felt like a ridiculous amount of money to put in the offering plate. I was both baffled and jealous. I did not understand how anyone could give away that much money to a church that was not even his own, and I also wanted desperately to know what it felt like to give away that much money that freely.

As I prepared for my third year in seminary and started completing the requisite financial aid forms, I called the priest at my sponsoring parish to ask if the church would be able to offer any assistance for the coming year. My first two years had been at a seminary in England, which did not offer financial aid, so, as I prepared to start at an Episcopal institution, I had to broach that delicate subject with my priest for the first time. Initially, he was confused. He was under the impression that my parents had been paying for seminary. Although they did help me a great deal, I informed him that I had needed to take out some significant student loans to pay for my education.

Without hesitation, the priest asked, “How much?” I could tell by his tone of voice what he had in mind—the intention behind his question—but I was embarrassed to say the amount aloud. He repeated himself, and, when I told him the amount, he simply said, “Call me back in a week, and I will tell you what we can do.” When I called him a week later, all he said was, “Where do I mail the check?”

You might expect that receiving that gift of tens of thousands of dollars changed my life overnight, and I suppose that, in some ways, it did. But the real way that my life changed in response to that generosity only unfolded in the years ahead. Confronted by the magnitude of that gift, I instantly became a faithful giver. From then on, no matter how meager our income was, Elizabeth and I gave the first ten percent back to God, and I have never worried about money since.

When I start by giving money away instead of waiting to the end to see how much will be left, I learn to celebrate abundance instead of fearing scarcity. Stewardship, as a spiritual practice, has the power to change my attitude toward money and God as clearly and powerfully as going to church or saying my prayers. It is as real a way to grow in faith as any other spiritual discipline I know, and I remain profoundly grateful for my sending parish and that priest for helping me find it in my own life.

Setting aside the first ten percent of our income and giving it back to God does not leave us with more money at the end of the day but less. Yet, when we give a tithe to God, our hearts and souls and minds learn how to believe that, because of God’s great abundance, there will always be enough. If it seems like I talk and write about money all the time, it is not because I am trying to raise money for the church but because I want you to know how good it feels to let go of those worries and trust in God in a new way.

I still shop at thrift stores and buy my clothes from the clearance rack, but I do so not with anxiety but with intention. I am grateful to my parents for teaching me that money is a resource to be used wisely and faithfully, and I am grateful to have learned through my own practice of stewardship what they have known the whole time—that we belong to a great and generous God whose love will always be enough.

Yours Faithfully,

Evan D. Garner