A long, single strand of spaghetti slid over Nate’s chin as he expertly slurped it through his lips—but not before the end flicked up and deposited a splash of marinara on the tip of his nose. Instinctively, his eyes darted up from his plate toward his mother, who was shooting him that look – the one that meant “Young Man, you have better manners than that.” But before his mother could get the words out, Nate casually asked, “Mom, when I get to be an acolyte next year, will I learn all the church secrets?”
His mother, both surprised and amused, replied, “What sort of secrets would those be, young man?” There it was! She managed to slip in the “young man” warning anyway.
Nate continued, “I’m sure there are a bunch but I’m really curious about how God gets all the money we put in the collection plate on Sunday. One of the other kids thinks it has something to do with angels.”
His sister started to snicker, while his dad’s eyes flicked back and forth between Nate and his mom, like he was watching a tennis match.
“Whatever made you think of that, Nate?” his mom asked.
“Well, we make a big deal about those collection plates,” Nate said, glancing down at his remaining spaghetti. “When I go to church with Grandma, they bring up the collection plates and say something about how all things come from God and then we give them back to him.”
His mother corrected him, “You mean ‘All things come from thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” Nate nodded. “So, we give money to God, how does he get it?”
His mother glanced at his father to see if he would bail her out, but he only shrugged. “You’re the former head of the Altar Guild. You’ve got this.”
She turned back to Nate using a tidbit from her recent Godly Play training. “Well, I wonder what you think it means?”
“I guess it’s sorta like when Dad gives me an allowance, and I use some of it to buy him—or you—a present on your birthday,” Nate offered.
His mother paused, surprised by his insight despite his recent spaghetti trick. “I’m impressed, Nate. That’s a very good answer,” she said with a smile.
“I know,” Nate replied a bit sure of himself, “I pay attention, but I still want to know how God gets the money we give him.”
Nate pulled the car into the garage, plugged it in, and grabbed the box of groceries from the backseat. The aroma of garlic, basil, and tomatoes filled the garage from the kitchen on the other side of the door. That smell coupled with the thoughts that kept playing in his head completed the picture. Twenty-five years had passed since the conversation with his mom about how God gets the money we give at church. Now, he had his own son—thankfully, not yet old enough to pose such deep theological questions.
During his time at university, Nate drifted away from church, but now, he and his partner had decided they needed some spiritual foundation for their son. Frankly, they had realized they needed that for themselves, too. They discovered the Church of the Transfiguration after searching online for inclusive, welcoming, churches soon after moving to Dallas. Being back in an Episcopal Church reminded Nate of how included and loved he’d felt serving as an acolyte. He wanted that experience for his son, too. It wasn’t every church that let a nine-year-old get that close to the altar during Sunday service.
After watching a few services online, Nate and his partner finally mustered the courage to attend in person one Sunday. That was two years ago, and now the Rector had asked him to join the Stewardship Committee. Nate, smiled to himself, thinking, Now I’m the one who has to answer the question about how God gets the money we give on Sundays.”
Nate realized that many people new to the church—including his partner—and even some folks who had been around for a while, hadn’t given much thought to the money that keeps a church running. His partner, who had grown up Roman Catholic, once said he always assumed the church received its funds from the Vatican or the Bishop.
Nate, however, had grown up being a part of his family’s yearly discussions about giving to the church. His dad always said, “You set money aside for the things you love.” Both he and his sister had a box in their bedrooms. Each week, when they got their allowance, before they did anything else, they put the amount they had promised to give into what they called their “God Box.” Once a month, they took that money and placed it into the Sunday collection plate. Whenever the youth group had pizza, built ramps for people’s homes, went on a pilgrimage, or served meals to the homeless, his mom and dad would remind him and his sister that it was the money they—and other members of the church—gave that made those things possible. They gave that money because they love God and the people He had drawn together to love the world around them.
As he stood in the quiet of the garage reflecting on all these things, deep in his heart Nate could hear his grandma singing,
“Christ has no body now but yours
No hands no feet on earth but yours
Yours are the eyes with which He looks
Compassion on His world
Yours are the feet with which He walks to do good
Yours are the hands with which He blesses all the world.”
“That’s it,” Nate thought. “It’s just like Dad said—you set money aside for the things you love. It’s the joy you feel when you give a gift to someone you love. It’s realizing that the abundance you have comes from a source greater than yourself, no matter how hard you feel you’ve worked for it. It’s about letting your hands be the ones with which He blesses all the world.
“Nate!” his partner called out from the kitchen, “your mom is on the phone!”
Nate shouted back, “Tell her I’ll be right there—and tell her that I think I finally figured out how God gets the money we give at church.”
To be continued…
Written by Al Blackwell | Illustrations by TJ McCoy