Ignorance, as the saying goes, is indeed bliss…until you realize that you are ignorant. Then it is embarrassing. And sometimes horrifying.
I know what I’m talking about, having experienced the shameful realization that what I’d been teaching for years under the banner of “incontestable biblical truth” was dead wrong. People trusted me, and I misled them on matters of eternal importance. Worse, some of that misleading teaching is still in print, scattered in places where I can’t possibly recover it, like hidden land mines buried during a war that is long over. (How thankful I am that cassette tapes have become an outmoded technology, effectively silencing thousands of my old sermons.)
In November’s e-Teaching, I made the case that all nonprofits and charities incur inevitable expenses for fundraising and administration. That was true when Paul raised funds for poor saints in Jerusalem (a fact I elaborated on in my last e-teaching), and it has been true every time funds have been raised ever since. Even in the case of an all-volunteer organization, there are still expenses incurred for fundraising and administration, expenses that are often paid by the volunteers themselves.
So let us admit it: It costs money to inform potential donors of needs, and it costs money to use donated funds properly in order to meet the needs for which they were given.
I don’t think that “fundraising” is a dirty word. Rather, fundraising is biblical. You can find examples of it in both Old and New Testaments.
Paul, for example, was quite a fundraiser. He devoted two chapters of his second letter to the Corinthians to communicate the needs of poor saints in an attempt to persuade his readers to give sacrificially to meet those needs. That is fundraising. When people sometimes tell me that I shouldn’t communicate needs or attempt to motivate people to meet those needs—but instead just pray about them—I point them to 2 Corinthians 8-9.
In my previous e-teaching in this series, I promised that I’d share with you the story of the biggest spiritual event in my life, besides being born again. I’ve told this story hundreds of times around the world since it happened. It is my tenth confession.
I was in the midst of my third church-planting pastorate, which began in 1991. In just a few years, the congregation had grown from five people (my wife, myself, and our three children) to close to 300 people (if you counted pregnant women twice, which I did). We’d rented public school space for several years and then purchased acreage on which we erected a church building. The sanctuary could seat 400 people. We borrowed $800,000 from the bank, and that, along with our savings, got us Sunday School rooms, wall-to-wall carpeting, air conditioning, offices, and a paved parking lot.
God knows I love pastors. I was a pastor, off and on, for about twenty years. I’ve spoken to thousands of pastors around the world and expended myself on their behalf. I know something about the challenges they face. But sometimes they say things that I’m certain they will one day regret.
For example, have you ever heard a pastor say, “Your tithe belongs to the local church”? I’ll bet I’ve heard that hundreds of times over the past 40 years of my Christian life. That familiar claim is often followed with, “If you want to give to other ministries, you can give offerings over and above your tithe.”
While I was attending Bible School almost four decades ago, I happened to notice a cute little Oklahoma girl named Becky Smith. The first thing that attracted me to her was her long hair, which I soon learned had never been cut. I mean never. The midwestern Pentecostal denomination that Becky’s family was involved with, known as the Free Holiness Church, sincerely believed it was a sin for women to cut their hair. So all the Free Holiness women had long hair. The older women kept their hair up in Pentecostal buns (something I’ve always considered a sin!).
Becky’s family lived near the Bible School where we were both enrolled, and I faithfully attended Becky’s family’s church three times a week during the time we dated. I was much more interested in her than I was in her family’s church. But it was at her church that I learned that there were many things people could do to sin that I had never heard about.
My third confession in last month’s e-teaching—an admission of visiting an Assembly of God church in the summer of 1976 and experiencing what they called “the baptism in the Holy Spirit”—leads to my fourth, fifth and sixth confessions this month. But first, some background.
One week after my Pentecostal experience, I began my freshman year at Penn State University with the intention of majoring in forestry. I soon became involved in a campus ministry called Lamb Fellowship. It was led by a group of young men who had all been influenced by the Charismatic Renewal Movement—begun in 1960 when Episcopalian priest Dennis Bennet announced to his California congregation that he had been baptized in the Holy Spirit and had spoken in tongues. By the mid-1970s, the Charismatic Renewal was sweeping through traditional denominations across the U.S. and around the world. Those were amazing years.
It has now been almost 36 years that I’ve been serving in vocational ministry. Along the journey, I’ve learned not just a few lessons. How I wish I could have known 36 years ago what I know now! I would have done so many things differently.
Thankfully, one thing I’ve learned is that God is in the redemption business. He can use even our mistakes to produce something good. Perhaps this series of e-teachings will serve that purpose to some degree, if I can help others—who have begun their journey more recently than me—to avoid the mistakes I’ve made.
In last month’s e-teaching I shot a sacred cow about tithing to the local church. I pulled the trigger with fear and trepidation.
My fears, however, proved to be baseless, as most of the feedback I received was very positive. We emailed that e-teaching to 9,000 subscribers. We also posted it on our website here, where about 4,500 people have since read it. 888 Facebook subscribers “liked” it and 529 of them “shared” it. That made it our most popular e-teaching ever.
One of the earliest lessons learned by the Mayflower pilgrims who founded Plymouth Colony is one that many Americans seem to have forgotten or never learned. It is a lesson about human nature, poverty, prosperity and toxic charity. It has profound implications for ministries like Heaven’s Family and for any Christian who is trying to follow Jesus and help the poor. I heard the story some years ago in a series of books that many homeschooling families use to educate their children known as the Uncle Eric Series, authored by Richard Maybury. This month’s e-teaching is his. — David
The Great Thanksgiving Hoax
by Richard Maybury
Each year at this time school children all over America are taught the official Thanksgiving story, and newspapers, radio, TV, and magazines devote vast amounts of time and space to it. It is all very colorful and fascinating.
It is also very deceiving. This official story is nothing like what really happened. It is a fairy tale, a whitewashed and sanitized collection of half-truths which divert attention away from Thanksgiving’s real meaning.