What’s He Doing From The Front?

Jan, who does the biscuits, and Mary who has a bit of a short temper, were setting out chairs in the hall for a Mother’s Union meeting. Jan paused and looked like she wanted to say something. She rarely ever spoke, but when she did it was usually something worth saying.

“Mary,” she started. “What’s a blessing?”

Mary loved being asked questions. It made her feel that the other person thought that she might have the answer. And Mary loved having the answer. She loved giving her opinion and correcting others about theirs. But when it came to faith, she was a bit shaky. Mary was a life-long card-carrying Christian. She attended every service, knew the service booklet word for word and really did love Jesus. But if there was one area she was uncharacteristically reluctant to be an authority on, it was her faith. And this made her feel quite flustered.

“Reverend John said he’d be popping by later Jan, why don’t you save that question for him?”

Mary carried on shuffling chairs around, but Jan seemed to have not heard her, and continued her line of enquiry.

“I’m on about the offering. When the vicar is handed the plate at the altar…who’s actually blessing the gifts? Is our contribution on the plate blessed by the vicar, or is it being blessed by God?”

Mary felt annoyed that she couldn’t think of anything at all to say to this. She was annoyed with herself, and also mildly annoyed with poor Jan who couldn’t have possibly known that Mary would have such an aversion for talking about faith.

“That’s a tricky one Jan it really is, but I see we’re still 12 chairs short and they won’t unstack themselves.” But Jan simply continued asking about blessings whilst unstacking chairs. At this point Natalie from the Youth Group arrived with two more ladies from the Mothers Union and Mary seized her opportunity.

 

“Ladies, Jan has a really interesting question for you. I’m going to put the kettle on.”

Jan, Natalie and the other ladies from Mother’s Union sat in the seats they’d just put out, and considered the question. Natalie put it to Jan that we can’t just assume God blesses what we give, or indeed blesses anything. We can only ask for His blessing. “So,” said Natalie “I think our offering blessed by the Vicar.”

“I don’t know,” said one of the ladies from the Mother’s Union (no-one knew their names and it was far too late in the game to ask) “I think we can assume some things are blessed, because Jesus said so.” Well played, thought Natalie, well played. “Jesus said so” is a great trump card.

The MU lady went on, “He said ‘It’s more blessed to give than to receive’ and He also said ‘Blessed are those who believe without seeing me.’ And then there’s the Beatitudes where Jesus lists all sorts of folks who are blessed, like the poor in spirit, the meek, mourners, the merciful and that. Jesus said it, so can’t we just assume it’s always true?”

Game, set and match to the lady from MU. Very well put. The others were impressed. Mary was hovering by the entrance with a tray of tea and wondered if she could divert the topic onto safer ground, like the recent scandal about the craft tables and all that glitter.

Before she could intervene, Natalie asked Jan, “What’s brought this up?”

Jan said, “Well last Sunday, I was a bit late and I forgot to pick up a hymn book on my way in. I just rushed to a free pew. The back 10 rows were all full, so I had to sit near the front, near that new couple. Now, I knew most of the hymns, mind you, but I’d never heard the offertory one. So when we got to that one, I mimed for a bit then just looked around.

“And that’s when I saw Rev John mouth something when he got the offertory plate. I thought to myself ‘I’ve never seen him do that before.’ I suppose I’m normally looking down at my hymn book. I wanted to ask him what he’d said but I thought it might be private. So when I got home I popped in on Mr Connor, that Catholic that lives near me, ‘cos he knows everything, and I had to return a Pyrex dish I’d borrowed, and anyway he told me that Rev John was probably blessing our contributions. That’s what got me wondering about blessings.”

At that moment Rev John walked in carrying huge number of shopping bags, an umbrella and a puppet of King Herod. He had his vestments draped over one shoulder and his car keys between his teeth. A standard assortment of accoutrements for Rev John. Putting them all down in turn he flopped onto one of the spare seats and said “Hullo ladies,” in his usual jolly way.

Mary seized her opportunity. “Rev John, we were just discussing what a blessing is,” this was a slight departure from the truth as Mary had yet to say a single thing about it, but never mind that, “and Jan here didn’t know what that private thing you say over the plate might be, but she was too afraid to ask.” Mary had a way of being divulging rather more than people would like, whilst expertly distancing herself from ambiguity or doubt.

Rev John felt wounded at the thought of anyone not wanting to ask him something. Poor Jan. She looked very embarrassed. He felt doubly wounded that anyone might think anything he did at the altar might be private. Didn’t people know he was blessing the gifts? It was a public prayer.

“I’m awfully sorry Jan. It’s a blessing I say. It goes something like, ‘Yours, Lord is the greatness the power, the glory etc. etc. and everything in heaven and on earth is yours.’ Then I lift up the plate and say ‘All things come from you, and of your own we give you.’”

By the looks on everyone’s faces, this was news to them too. How? Ah, the offertory hymn! They’re always looking down at their books. It dawned on him. No wonder Jan didn’t know. For a horrid moment Rev John wondered if his beloved congregation actually knew that God blessed their generosity at all. Did they make a connection between giving and faith? Had he ever made it clear? No, he probably hadn’t. But he had an idea. Leaping to his feet he took Jan’s hand in both of his and shook it and said, “Thank you! Jan thank you! It’s clear now. I know what I’ve got to do.”

And at that he dashed off leaving the group of women quite startled and confused.

Very Rev John.

 

 

Crisis Meeting: The Final Chapter

Refresh on Part 7 here.

She had the PCC’s full attention, because having greater outgoings than incomings is never a comfortable position to be in. But help was at hand.

“As you know, finances and accounts aren’t my area,” the Generous Giving Officer started, “I deal with the faith stuff; what Jesus says about how we might live generously. But between them, my two new team mates Nathan Bruce and Samantha Lee, can offer advice and support around how churches can be good stewards and spend income well, and how to make it easier to access that income in the first place.

“At the last meeting someone told me that you’re tied into a lot of long term contracts. Like for your photocopier, energy suppliers, insurance, etc.”

“Yes.” Richard shook his head gravely. “Our last treasurer was ill for a long time and things rather slipped. I’m going through our accounts and it seems we’re tied into contracts all over the place. We’ve got monthly outgoings with companies I’ve never heard of. Some of the rates are extortionate.”

“Well, they can help you to get under control. Suggest where to shop around. Discuss healthy finances and budgeting.”

 “Now, onto the help they can offer with access to income. This is about your church making it as easy as possible for people to contribute financially. There’s plenty of easy changes you could make that’d make a big difference. First is signing up to the Parish Giving Scheme, but that’s definitely a conversation for another time because it’s a big topic.

“There are other changes you can easily make, in the meantime. Like linking your church website to Give.net so if anyone’s visiting your website and wants to make a financial contribution to your church, to your church roof fund for example, they just click a button.”

She paused for breath, and noted that there was what she interpreted as a baffled silence.

“Also,” she ventured carefully, “hot off the press: the Church of England’s piloting of new contactless giving system, so soon visitors will be able to give using their debit cards.” By the looks on some of their faces, this might be a step too far. It was as though she had suggested camel racing down the aisle as a way of upping their income. She was already aware she’d lost half the room when she mentioned the website.

Trying to quickly recover their confidence and good-will she continued, “The thing with technology, and giving via a website or by card reader, is that whilst it might not appeal to many people in your present congregation, and that’s fine by the way, it certainly would appeal to many younger people visiting for Christenings or weddings, or your Messy Church congregation. Many of them don’t really carry cash. At the moment, they can’t exercise their financial generosity when they come to your church. They’re…left out”

She added, “Giving people options makes the place feel even more accessible, open and welcoming.”

She knew this was exactly what St. Someone’s strived for. Rev John had briefed her that the church was really focussing on building a reputation as a friendly, relaxed and hospitable community.

Encouragingly, Claire said, “Me Mam would like that contactless card reader thing. She only comes to church now and again like, but she never carries cash. She’d definitely give to St. Someone’s if she could do it without having to remember to go to the cashpoint first.”

There were murmurs of “Hmmm” and some other noises that sounded quite positive emitting from various quarters of the PCC. But clearly no motion would be passed tonight.

“Well, these are just ideas the new team mates can talk to you about in the near future. Tonight is more about the culture change stuff. In fact why don’t we recap on what we’ve already discussed?”

“David!” Mary blasted. “The minutes, dear. The minutes! Tell us all what we’ve covered.”

Her husband shrank in his seat, cleared his throat, and read out from the extensive notes he’d made:

“Outgoings greater than incomings. Richard presented the accounts. We went over our answers to the generosity audit we’d been given last time. We’ve decided to be more transparent about our parish finances and our needs as a diocese, and explain what Parish Share is and what it pays for. Also use our magazine and website to tell people about different ways their generosity can serve God/the church. Then we talked about how our reserves are almost gone. Then our guest arrived. Then Tim said ‘Are you here to tell us to give more? Or tell us how to fleece other people of their money?’”

“Oh thanks very bloomin’ much!” Tim fumed.

“David, I don’t think we need a blow by blow account of all the things we’ve said.” Rev John put in.

“You’re not a court stenographer David!” steamed Mary melodramatically, and with much jowl shaking.

Rev John felt very sorry for David at this moment, but also rather impressed. The man could write with lightning speed. Had he really recorded every word? No wonder he was the Minutes Secretary. Incredible. And also worrying. What else had been recorded from previous PCC meetings? “Perhaps you might remove conversational comments and stick with the key decision points.” He suggested.

After quietly apologising to the room, David continued, “We did ‘My Money Story’. We discussed charging for after service refreshments. We had a majority vote against charging, as it doesn’t reflect true hospitality, and agreed to use our church income to cover the cost of refreshments. Kevin agreed to write this up for our magazine so people know why we’re making this change. We talked about short-term campaigns vs long-terms ones, and agreed a short-term stewardship campaign wouldn’t be the right way for us to go. Likely to influence only those who already give sacrificially. Mary said that.” He looked up, but she was still scowling, so he hurriedly continued,

“Then we discussed the ‘Our Generosity in numbers’ list and made our own for St. Someone’s. Everyone really liked this. Then you told us about managing our resources better and buying from the right companies. You said we could think about how we can use technology to make it easier for people to give. This’ll help with our immediate problems. And that’s all.”

“Gosh, that’s a lot!” said Rev John smiling widely, trying to distract anyone from dwelling on the revelation that David records every single word that comes out of PCC members’ mouths.

The PCC looked somewhere between stunned, impressed and confused at all that had been covered. It was dark outside. Claire tried, unsuccessfully, to casually look at her watch without being noticed.

“Yes. It is a lot. This is big culture change we’re talking about. But I really believe we have to give these new ideas a go if we’re going to see the results you need.” Heads nodded. There was certainly a real sense of hope among them, if tinged with fatigue.

She handed a piece of paper to each PCC member, and said, “There’s one final thing. It’s probably the biggest change you could make. It’ an easy, low-effort-big-impact way of communicating generosity. Loads of other churches are using it round here. But… I’m not going to go through this with you now. You’ve heard enough from me!” She began packing up. “You’ve got all you need in front of you.”

She shook Rev John’s hand (far less sweaty now) and addressing the silent room, said, “I want you to read this in your own time and reflect on whether you’re ready to make this change. Then I want you to try it.”

Any hint of lethargy was replaced by intrigue as members scanned the handout: ‘7 Simple Steps to Symbols of Generosity’.

At the door she turned back to the PCC and told them, “You can do it you know. You’ve got a generous community. Just give this a go. You’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

And that was that. Rev John felt the knots in his stomach dissolve, and that earlier flicker of hope properly took hold. They had all the tools they needed. They absolutely could do it. And they would.

As the final chairs were stacked and cups were washed, he began to read the handout, and he began to see a future where his congregation celebrated generosity in every single service. His heart leapt.

Crisis Meeting: Part 4

The tension in the air was apparent to all those weary Crisis Meeting veterans, many sporting that thousand yard “one hour into a PCC meeting” stare.

Mary had just been saying how she couldn’t imagine what immediate impact the Project could have, so what was the point, when the Generous Giving Project Officer herself had walked in. An awkward moment. Mary replaced her spectacles, and shuffled her papers, embarrassed, and hopeful she hadn’t offended the woman. Apologising could make things worse. She may not have heard. Best continue to shuffle papers.

Rev John stood up, knocking over his empty cup in his haste, which clattered on its saucer. An effective, if unintended diversion. That was Rev John. He lumbered awkwardly to the door and welcomed the Generous Giving Project Officer to the seat he’d left spare, saying how terribly pleased they all were that she’d come back to talk to them. He shook her hand and immediately forgot her name as soon as their hands met.

His palm began to sweat. He became very aware of this. His agenda with her name on it was on the table but it would’ve been far too obvious to steal a glance. Still sweating, he kept shaking her hand and smiling wildly.

“Hello! Hello!” He said again. Then, “It’s always a pleasure to have a visit from… the Diocese,” Phew. Dodged. But Mary was on him and immediately corrected, “We are the Diocese John. This is a Diocesan Officer. But we…”

“Yes, yes, sorry, of course, yes.” He flustered and smiled awkwardly and quickly sat down, trying not to notice Mary shaking her head.

He wiped his hand on his trousers (as did she, he couldn’t help but notice). Please Lord, let things improve.

The PCC had rearranged their faces into sincere smiles. They really were glad of her arrival. Their last meeting had been so filled with hope and new ideas, that most of the members had genuinely been looking forward to her return. Most.

Tim hadn’t been. Tim resented any mention of money. He had a stack of unopened letters in his hall, which he ritually shredded once a month, such was his aversion to reading bills or bank statements. Unhappy, in debt, and in real need of support that he couldn’t bring himself to ask for, a meeting like this touched on every one of his nerves. If only he could tell someone, he wouldn’t have to be fearful of the postman, or the debt collectors, or his ex-wife. Tim was in this middle of his own crisis.

“So are you hear to tell us to give more? Or tell us how to fleece other people of their money?”

The questions leapt out of his mouth before he could soften their edges. He wasn’t a rude person, he was just in a mess, and he’d not really listened to what the Generous Giving Project was about. If he decided it was about taking money from the poor, he could justify his self-righteous indignation and affront at her presence, which he already felt bad about. Tim was a good guy.

People were visibly cringing at his outburst.

Fortunately, she didn’t take this hostile start to the meeting at all personally. This was her 37^th PCC meeting. She knew by now, that every person in the room had their own personal worries, concerns, traditions, and histories that influenced their approach to money.

She knew that in every chair sat a person who loved their church and loved their community and loved God. Who wanted to see their church not just survive, but flourish, and who couldn’t help but have very human doubts, because the problem was big. But so was God.

“Why don’t we start with prayer, before we get into all that?” The room fell silent, and this time the silence made space for peace, and peace drove out the tension. Silence. They sat, and they waited, and they prayed to God. And then the meeting began.

Instead of getting straight down to the business of their financial situation, or going over the answers to the generosity audit they’d been working on, the Generous Giving Project Officer came from a completely different angle.

She asked them to turn to their neighbour, and recall and share (as much or little as they liked) any early memories they had about money. The idea being that we’re shaped by our experiences, that we make decisions based on how our family approached money when we were young, and that this influences by how we interact with money as were grow up.

So by recalling money memories, we can begin to work out why we approach finances the way we do. Sarah told Claire about penny sweets. Claire told Sarah about dinner money. David told Kevin about paying the milkman. Kevin told David about doing the pools. Mary told Jan about her father being made redundant from the factory when she was 11 and them having to sell their house. Jan told Mary about breeding gerbils to sell outside the school gates to save money to buy roller-skates. Tim was sat next to Rev John.

“Sorry about before,” he whispered. They weren’t doing the memory thing then.

“Is everything OK?” asked Rev John, quietly, so no-one could hear that they weren’t sharing money memories.

“Not really John,” Tim whispered angrily. “I just don’t see why we have to talk about money. And besides I can’t give any more than I’m giving. If that’s all tonight’s about, I’m wasting my time. Whatever.” He looked really upset, and like he wanted to say more, but instead he folded his arms.

Rev John had a sudden brilliant pastoral insight for which he would later be very thankful. “Everything OK at home Tim?” Rev John quietly and carefully probed. There was barely a pause.

“No everything’s not OK at home.” Tim forgot to keep his voice down and was now at normal volume, actually quite a bit louder than the neighbouring pairs, discussing piggy banks, miners strikes and paper rounds.

“I lost my job 3 weeks ago. I missed another shift because I had to be in court about a fine that I hadn’t paid. I was late getting out and had to get the bus then walk to work because I sold my car to pay a different fine. I couldn’t tell my boss why I was late again so they fired me. I’m skint John, and I come here and it’s all give, give, give.”

Rev John had no idea about any of this. He felt hurt that Tim hadn’t told him sooner. They were friends. He could have helped. But this personal hurt was immediately replaced by sadness for Tim and his situation and a desire to make it right.

He also wanted to tentatively point out that Tim had missed the point of the evening and perhaps hadn’t understood the approach of the Generous Giving Project. But maybe now wasn’t the right time for that. “Something for later”, he reflected.

The whole room had heard Tim’s very personal account even though many had raised their own voices to cover his, in order to avoid communal embarrassment. Everyone pretended nobody had heard anything and as the activity drew to a close many chose to look out of the windows or busy themselves by flicking through the agenda. Some PCC members looked to the Generous Giving Project Officer, curious as to how she’d handle it.

Crisis Meeting: Part 3

Richard the treasurer finally reached that item on St. Someone’s PCC agenda that had rattled them into action in the first place. Those dwindling reserves.

Ah, those.

Despite the general feeling of positivity that had snuck into the room (perhaps coincidentally) with the arrival of Kevin and his trays of still-warm biscuits, there was a palpable shift when Richard mentioned their reserves, or lack of. The PCC looked exactly how Rev John felt. Strained, anxious and covered in crumbs.

Tim, who hated talking finances more than anyone, slunk further down his seat in misery. No sooner had Richard laid out the facts about their situation than Mary took off her spectacles and placed them on the table. She was gearing herself up. No one spoke. It was always best if Mary wasn’t interrupted.

Finally, sure of everyone’s undivided attention, she stated with characteristic closed eyes and head shaking, “This long-term approach from the Generous Giving Project might well help us to be sustainable in the future. It might well connect giving with faith, resources with mission and make us better disciples. But it isn’t a magic wand that will fix the hole in our accounts tonight.”

Faces around tables took on appropriately grim expressions. Heads nodded in agreement. She continued.

“Yes, it should never have been left this long, and yes, if only we’d been more explicitly and inclusively generous sooner, rather than relying on reserves, we wouldn’t all be sitting here tonight at this this crisis meeting… eating cookies!” She glared at her husband who was still chewing. “David!”

Realising far too late that he shouldn’t have been eating whilst she was holding forth, he carefully put down his cookie and kept his eyes on the table.

“But what’s the point in trying to change the culture when what we need is money now?”

Rev John picked at his sleeve again, his inner dialogue continuing in the background of the meeting, as it always did.  It’s a jolly good thing we are running out of reserves, he thought to himself, blushing at this radical, private view. If only he had the confidence, he’d say that this was the best thing for the church.

Now they were running out completely, they could put all their faith in God and the generosity of their community, and not solely rely on good old Victor’s legacy. Incredibly generous though that was, he was only one parish member, and the man had been dead since 1996. What about today’s disciples?

In fact, Rev John fundamentally disagreed with storing great reserves. He held firmly to what Jesus said about not to storing up treasures on earth and God only giving Moses enough manna from heaven for one day, so the Israelites learned to trust in him. He looked back at knitted Moses and imagined him giving him a thumbs up, if Jaqueline had knitted him thumbs, which she hadn’t.

The problem was, Rev. John really hated social awkwardness, especially disagreements, and he expected his ideas would be unpopular at best. And, like David, Rev. John, was most afraid of Mary. He’d been watching Mary from behind his table, wondering whether David got told off at home as much as he got told off in PCC meetings.

He was paralysed into total inaction for fear of being unpopular amongst his beloved flock. His anxieties had led to procrastination which, in turn, had made him more anxious and… procrastinatious, which, he mused, probably wasn’t even a word. He tried scribbling it on his agenda, while Mary continued spouting her many objections and doubts.

He assumed he was the only one at St. Someone’s who felt this way about the reserves. What he didn’t realise, because he’d never voiced his reservations about reserves, was that Claire, Kevin and Amy felt exactly the same as him.

Claire wanted to say something, but she was the youngest PCC member. She thought she wouldn’t be listened to. Kevin wanted to speak up, but he was the newest PCC member. He didn’t dare. Amy wanted to voice her opinion but she was on income support and couldn’t give much money. She mistakenly thought her opinions about church finances counted for less, because she gave less.

If only these things could be discussed openly, she’d realise how valued her input and generosity were. If the topic of generosity wasn’t reserved for “crisis meetings”, and instead was discussed positively and openly, maybe they’d all find their voices. That was the problem with being so hush hush about giving, generosity and finances.

At that moment, just as Mary had found an ever so slightly different way of saying exactly the same thing for the seventh time (what’s the point in trying to change the culture when we have no money now?) the meeting was interrupted again, this time by the arrival of the Generous Giving Project Officer.

She hadn’t brought any freshly baked cookies, so her interruption was already a slight disappointment, though she wasn’t to know that. She assumed everyone’s strained expressions were looks of eager anticipation, so she smiled widely and greeted the room.

Crisis Meeting: Part 2

Next item on the agenda. An update on activity since the Generous Giving Project Officer’s last meeting with them. What had they done about their diagnosis and prescribed treatment? Well, in the last fortnight the PCC of St. Someone’s had been diligently meeting in pairs in the vicarage, the vestry and the pub, to work through their self-assessment survey.

They’d been answering questions ranging from “How does the offering/collection take place in church?” to “How do people know how to volunteer to serve?” to “Does your Facebook page link to the Generous Giving Project articles?” This wide-ranging list of questions had really helped them to look at their church with new eyes and ask, are we an obviously generous church?

The answer had been a reluctant no. Generous? Yes, in some areas. Obvious? No. In truth, no-one ever talked positively or joyfully about giving generously at St. Someone’s. There was a sense of anxiety and awkwardness. Reluctance. No. Despair. That was it. Not joy, not enthusiasm, not involvement or celebration.  And God wasn’t usually part of the conversation.

There was no feel-good factor when it came to the topic of giving. It was avoided, or when it was talked about it was just an appeal for more. And that just wasn’t compatible with God’s message, with God’s abundant and lavish generosity, thought Rev John, filled with consternation. His tummy grumbled. Must have been the quiche.

Richard continued to present the accounts with unnecessary drama, Rev John thought irritably. Then he chided himself for those mean-spirited thoughts. He was ever so grateful that Richard had stepped up to be treasurer. For all his pomp, Richard was a jolly decent and reliable fellow, and it was Richard after all, who’d contacted the Generous Giving Project.

Thank God we’re being cajoled into action and encouraged to remove our heads from the sand, Rev John thought. This felt good. It felt fresh. It felt bold and a bit scary. It felt right.

Tonight they would put together a plan for better communication. No more leaving people in the dark, leaving them guessing, leaving them to work it out for themselves. And that’s just the regulars. Visitors and new Christians didn’t stand a chance. Until now, any whiff of giving was kept strictly under wraps. As though St. Someone’s didn’t want anyone thinking they were some kind of ambassadors of a generous God.

If you wanted to generously give your time, good luck trying to find a volunteer sign-up sheet. If you wanted to share your skills in piano playing or accounts or media, good luck finding someone to tell. And if you actually wanted to contribute money to St. Someone’s’ mission, good luck finding an envelope, a Standing Order form, the treasurer or even the collection plate! These things were very discreetly hidden away.

Yes. They needed help with communication.

It now seemed very clear that this was the reason they’d had to rely on Victor Vaughan the vigorous verger’s bequest for so many years. Rev John had never met Vic, but he was infamous in the parish for his verve and vivacity. Surely he wouldn’t have wanted his voluminous legacy to dwindle away in the vestry vaults, in place of parish-wide regular, committed generosity, leaving nothing but a vast, vulnerable void, where once there had been viable funds for growth and new life. How… how… Rev John put his finger in his mouth trying to think of another v adjective. Ahah! How vexatious, he’d have thought. Bingo.

Vocabulary triumph aside, Rev. John felt rotten. Whilst he’d not been in the parish that long, he’d not really tackled this obvious reluctance. But this culture had been the norm for decades and he couldn’t change it on his own. It needed everyone’s buy-in and lots of prayer. What a pickle, he thought. What a massive jar of pickles. His eyes darted back to the toy box and to Jesus. Help me out here Jesus, he thought. Give me strength.

His mood was immediately lifted when Kevin the red haired pastry chef threw open the door with his foot, armed with two large trays of biscuits (that were still hot so mind your fingers) and apologised for his lateness but the first batch weren’t quite right. God bless you Kevin you wonderful, generous man. Rev John loved his parish deeply. The PCC munched happily through the agenda items. And things were looking up.

They agreed they were going to have to be transparent about the needs inside the parish and also the wider diocese. Mary helpfully reminded them all, again, that “We are the diocese,” which had become a favourite phrase, with narrowed eyes peering over her spectacles, challenging anyone to contradict her. No-one ever did. Mary was frightening. Plus they understood they were indeed the diocese.

They agreed to add plenty of information in their magazine and their website. After all, this wasn’t stuff to be keep hidden. They weren’t talking about State secrets. They were simply agreeing to share ways people could do generous acts in the parish, as a way of serving God. It was so obvious that many were left wondering why they hadn’t highlighted this before.

They were on a roll. People were smiling.

Two more agenda items to go until the arrival of the Generous Giving Project Officer…

 

Crisis Meeting: Part 1

It was a sunny spring evening in Madeupton- le- Tale, and the parish of St. Someone’s was having a PCC meeting. It wasn’t the third Tuesday of the month. It was the second Wednesday. It was an irregular meeting. It was a crisis meeting.

“The fact of the matter is, we’re running out of money. Our outgoings are far greater than our incomings. Frankly, folks, we’re heading for a cliff edge.”

It’s not that Richard liked being the bearer of bad news…per se. But he did love a crisis. In his head, he imagined himself as the person who could steer this ship away from danger. Though, tonight, even Richard was at a loss. He’d recently been appointed as the treasurer and if truth be told the accounts didn’t look great.

The PCC had the finance records in front of them. Usually they didn’t sit at tables, but tonight they were. It must be serious. Much paper would need shuffling. And, Rev. John thought, from the other side of the room, tables make great barriers to hide behind, before quickly repenting. He couldn’t bear conflict of any sort, and the talk of money, and lack of it, made him weak at the knees. He stared at the Jesus puppet in the toy box in the corner, and prayed for wisdom.

St. Someone’s hadn’t addressed the area commonly known as “stewardship” for years, until recently when Rev. John made several gallant efforts at preaching on the subject. But this hadn’t really gone down well, because it was a bit out of the blue.

What they needed was a much more joined-up approach. They couldn’t rely on the odd sermon to communicate this vast and important subject. After all, not everyone had attended those services, and the ones that had…well…some had clearly been troubled, even annoyed, by what he’d said, which had left Rev John with more questions than answers.

He felt awful about unsettling his flock. Sermons shouldn’t do that… should they? And the rest of the congregation. Had they even been listening to him? Was he the fired up preacher he so aspired to be? His eyes drifted over to knitted Moses. Rev John knew Moses would understand…

Yes, he thought as his eyed scanned over the oversized donkey, it was clear they needed The Generous Giving Project, which could help a church to completely rethink its attitude towards generosity.

And they had indeed enrolled the Generous Giving Project officer’s help, but was it all too little too late? What about the here and now? For years they’d avoided discussing finances, generosity, giving, stewardship or anything that remotely touched on these subjects, and had relied on an ever-diminishing pot of money left in a legacy by Victor Vaughan the vigorous verger.

But their reserves had run dry. And, truth be told, most of the community probably weren’t thinking about generosity when they set aside their weekly envelopes. In his darker moods, Rev John wondered if it was more out of habit than anything else. He thought about his own giving. Was he giving in faith or out of habit? He shifted his gaze away from the foam cross poking out of the toy box. Perhaps not.

Some people were absolutely faithful, prayerful and generous givers. Looking around at their faces he was sure of it. And those who weren’t, probably didn’t even realise that their regular giving had anything to do with God. Or that the church actually relied on gifts contributed by its members. They were ill-informed, unaware and blind to the larger issues. And, Rev John reflected, it wasn’t their fault. Besides it was only in this area. When it came to time and skills, everyone totally understood the need, and gave joyfully and generously of both.

But, Rev. John thought, as he flicked crumbs from his jumper while agendas were passed around, flower arranging skills, website design and help with the youth group simply wouldn’t pay the heating bills or the wages of the Parish Administrator. It was all they could do to meet their Parish Share pledge this year. What about everything else?

People had to be given advice and encouragement about all ways of being generous. But where to start? There was so much to do. His shoulders slumped. But then, as his eyes glanced down the agenda, he remembered the Generous Giving Project, and he allowed a flicker of hope to spread in his tummy, until he could no longer feel the gloopy worry that often occupied that space.

What a relief when the Generous Giving Project Officer had visited last month, and broken it down into manageable chunks, had lifted spirits, and had pointed out small and easy ways of tweaking this and that. Actually tweaking rather a lot. Because rather a lot needed tweaking. She’d been clear on that.

After their first meeting they’d been diagnosed as being in a critical but stable condition, for now, but that this would decline if they didn’t act. She’d prescribed them a self-assessment survey, which was like a “generosity audit”, and had booked them in for a check-up appointment. That was tonight. She’d be arriving for the second half of the PCC meeting. Good, he thought. That’s good. Here goes…

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CHAPTERS 2-7 ARE NOW OUT

The Second Mark of Generosity

Continuing the series of articles discovering what “Marks of a Generous Church” might be, I’m interviewing people called Mark about generosity and church.

A simple concept really.

My second Mark is 46 years old, has two teenage children and a lovely wife called Lindsay. Often mistaken for another 46 year old, the slightly more famous but equally charming singer, radio presenter, and TV presenter Aled Jones, Bishop Mark Tanner invites me into his new pad to talk generosity.

It’s a Friday evening and Mark looks exhausted. I’m not sure if it’s from dodging paparazzi (presumably something he’s done all his life. Incidentally, have you ever noticed that they’ve never actually been seen together in the same room?), or from his new and demanding role as the Bishop of Berwick.

After a brief catch up- I’ve known Mark for a couple of years, as I was at Cranmer hall when he was Warden- the interview begins.

And I have to say Mark Tanner is a lovely man. He has a calming presence, he’s gentle and witty and is desperately passionate about Jesus. I can’t imagine anyone having a bad word to say about him. Except this: the speed at which he speaks when he’s excited about something, which is a lot of the time. Mark Tanner can talk for England.

So writing up an interview that took only 53 earth minutes to record has been very testing. He said so much, and it was so jam-packed with insights and sense and vision, that I’ve had to split his answers into “Generosity Wisdom” and “Generic Wisdom”. The latter can be found here, in a separate blog I’ve compiled, which begins with how Mark ended up in ministry.

Bishop Mark, (he immediately asks me to drop the bishop)… Mark, when you were growing up what was your family’s approach to charitable giving?  We didn’t talk about money much at all. But we were taught to give 10% of our pocket money to church, so I remember I started off getting 10p a week and I’d save a penny and give it to church. And I’m really grateful for that early habit.

As a parent, how have you approached it? We’ve been more explicit and intentional, I think. Our own personal discipline is to set aside 10% of our money, and give 5% of that straight to the church and 5% we give away creatively to charity. It’s part of our family life, a conversation we have with the children about giving away that 5%. That’s part of the reason we don’t just give 10% to the church. It’s important we all think about how we’re giving.

So why give 10%? Is that a Biblical thing? Or a benchmark? For me, it’s based on the Bible but not in the sense of “You’re sinning if you don’t give away 10%.” Because we live under Grace, not under law. But I find it a really helpful guideline. This discipline I learned as a child is something I just got used to. Even when I had very little, like when I was a youth worker, I still did it. I was paid next to nothing and it’s very easy for people to say “How can you give it away?” But the truth is, once you get used to it, you find you receive infinitely more back than you give.

My own theological understanding of tithing is still underdeveloped, so it’s something I’m exploring, but in my job I’ve found that “tithing” is quite an emotive topic. Often if I mention that word, people seem very sensitive about it, and quite negative. What’s going on there? I don’t talk about tithing, really. If I was preaching I’d talk about generosity being the key. But it’s immensely helpful to have a pattern by which you give. I think there are guidelines in scripture that are a helpful way of thinking, but I don’t think that’s there’s a command in the scriptures that says you MUST do it. I want to encourage people to ask themselves, “How do I do this?” And to give generously.

Here’s an example: John Wesley worked out how much he needed to live on, and he gave away the rest. And he started off not really giving away very much, but by the end of his life he had money coming in from absolutely everywhere, and he still lived on the amount of money he needed. So, say in modern money he needed £20k to live on. Whether he was earning £21k or £250k he still kept just £20k for himself, and give the surplus away.

That sounds far more challenging than tithing! Because when people have a lot of money, if they give away 10%, they still actually have a huge amount left. That’s absolutely right. I remember a friend telling me about a person who was earning hundreds of thousands of pounds. Apparently he asked, “So how much money should I give to God?”

And the response was, “Well there aren’t rules. Quite a lot of people think in terms of giving 10% of what you have away.”

He said, “I can’t do that! That would be giving away £30,000 a year!”

So his friend said, “Well how about we pray to God to reduce that amount of money.”

And the man said that would be great.

So the friend said, “Well how much do you want to give away?”

He said, “Well what about giving away £1,000?”

He said, “Well that’s fine, I’ll pray that you’re just earning £10,000 a year then!”

I love that story because he’s asking “Do you want to keep £9000 or do you want to keep £270,000? It’s all relative.”

Is teaching about generosity important to begin at a young age in the church? I think it’s vital we bring up our children engaging with the whole life of faith.

We live in a world that says “Money is everything so I’m going to earn as much as I can and keep it to myself.” But, actually, we live with a God who says “I’m giving you everything.”

So for me, I’m not saying give away your money because the church wants it. I’m saying you have a God who says to you the more you give away the more I’ll give you. It’s actually about living in the freedom of that generosity. Like the rest of following Christ, it’s quite challenging. So I think it’s key to start early.

Does generosity make you happy? Yes, sometimes. Not always. Sometimes it’s hard. And let’s face it there are times when it’s really tough to know how to be generous.

I was in London the other day and I was running late, so I bought myself some chips to eat on the way. And this gentlemen, you could smell the beer on his breath, said, “Can you give me a fiver so I can have some tea like you’re having?”

It broke my heart. Because I wanted to say “Of course.” The bag of chips was almost empty otherwise I’d have said “Just take the chips!” And I thought, if I give you a fiver you’re not going to spend it on food you’re going to spend it on alcohol, and I don’t know quite how to respond there.

Generosity can be quite complicated then? Yes. Honestly I don’t know what the generous response is in that situation. So like a coward I say “I’m really sorry,” I lower my head and I carry on walking, and feeling terribly guilty about it.

Generosity is hard even when you want to be generous. It’s why I think it’s so important to practice being generous when there are straightforward ways of doing so.

Generosity goes beyond money doesn’t it? So are there other ways we can be generous in difficult situations like that? Absolutely. When I was a Youth Worker in Coventry city centre, there was one bloke who’d sit and play the guitar. He used to ask me for money every time I went past, and I was paid next to nothing so I genuinely didn’t have money to give him.

But one day his guitar was dreadfully out of tune so I said, “I can’t give you money but I’ll tune your guitar if you want me to.” And then I was worried he’d think I was being rude! But he said, “Great mate!” So I sat next to I’m and tuned it and gave it back, but then I stayed, and then we had half an hour sitting on the street just playing. That was really great. We exchanged names and he’d say, “Hi Mark” when I walked by and I’d say “Hi Geoff”.

I remember 2 or 3 times I bought some chips for me and for him, so I could be a bit generous that way, but it started off by being generous by thinking: I’m not ashamed to be sitting with you in the street, tuning your guitar for you. Strangely giving money can be anti-generous because you can fob someone off with it.

Do you think we value money, time and skills equally in church? It’s absolutely vital that we do.

But in my darkest times of ministry I’ve felt massively taken for granted. You do something when you’re tired and you feel no one notices. It’s so easy to feel you’re not appreciated. Of course we need to be better, as a church, at appreciating and noticing and valuing. But I think there’s a challenge for me in that I take pleasure in being generous because I’m able to be generous.

Taking pleasure in giving? So is generosity more of a state of mind? I think it is. I remember once the youth group had been sticking chewing gum down the urinals in the gent’s, so they’d flood every time. It was a Monday morning and we had no money for a plumber so I went and got a new u-bend, and set to and changed it. Nobody knew I’d done that. It was a fairly unpleasant stinky job to do but I remember every time I’d nip in and use it or see someone coming out of there I got this sense of “actually I made that possible and that’s really good”.

And I mention it not because I’m proud of the fact I did it, but because whilst I was doing it I was thinking how am I going to look at this?

Am I going to think, “Blooming heck I’m the vicar here and I have to change urine soaked pipes”? Or am I going to think, “What a privilege to be able to give the church the continued use of this urinal”?

I remember I decided as I was kneeling on the floor, I’m going to think of this as a privilege and not as a chore. It was a real challenge.

I think we need to learn to take a wry sense of pleasure in the fact we’re able to serve.

Where do you see generosity in churches? In the time people take to care for their buildings, to open up, lay things out, cake baking, grass mowing, the welcome, the smiles, the handshakes, the helping people in distress, the support and care people show. The generosity in imagination. Then there’s the financial side of course. There’s generosity in so many ways. Generosity is everywhere in our churches. The Church of England couldn’t survive without it.

Have you ever been surprised by generosity? When I was a youth worker I was literally on the bread line, and the car I had to run failed its MOT, and it needed about £400 of work. That was over 10% of my salary. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have £4 never mind £400! And an hour later an envelope came through the door with exactly the right amount of money. It just said “For the youth worker’s car”. God provided. Whoever was behind that generosity…well it was overwhelming. I have a suspicion about who it was. This person was very generous.

Was it important for them not to sign the note? Well Jesus said “Don’t let your left hand see what your right hand is giving”. But For me that’s not about anonymity. It’s about genuinely practising generosity. If I took you out and bought you a meal, and was looking for gratitude from you, or I was trying to buy your time, that’s actually a purchase. I’ve bought something I want. Whereas generosity is about saying, “This is in my custody and I’m giving it to you. I’m letting go of it.” So often the things we think are generosity aren’t generosity.

What’s easiest to generously give, time, talents or money? I think that’s different for all of us and at different time of our lives. We all need to allow ourselves to be challenged in the areas we find difficult. So for some, writing a cheque is nothing, but they absolutely wouldn’t want to give up a couple of hours on a Saturday morning. I think we all have the challenge to interrogate ourselves and say “Am I practising generosity across the board?”

What would you do if you won the lottery? Mark gets very animated at this point. Ah now I’ve thought about this a lot! In Doncaster I was part of a social club and they’d ask me this every week. I didn’t play the lottery but they always asked, so I thought it through.

I’d set up a trust and I’d have 2 or 3 trustees with me and we’d keep the capital and give away the interest. The rule would be that nobody could apply for this gift. And, they’d have to give away 10% of what we gave them. So imagine you’re a charity. I’d send you a cheque for £10,000 because I thought what you were doing was good, and you’d have to give £1,000 of that away. And you’d have to write to me and tell me who you’d given it to, so we could then consider them next time we were giving money away.

It would teach you it was a gift that came out of the blue, and you didn’t ask for it, and, you had to apply generosity yourself. We’d build up this database of who we’d give to. I think it would be such fun. All sorts of people and organisations would just get money out of the blue, and they’d be giving money away.

And the capital? I hope it would continue to earn interest.

No holiday? Ah that’s interesting. I confess I’d struggle not to buy myself a new motorbike and an E-type Jag but you can’t have a bishop driving around in an E-type jag can you!?

Finally, do you have a favourite Bible passage on generosity? 2 Cor 12:9  “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” That sense of Paul being right up against it and God just saying “Look in me you’ve got everything. My grace is utterly sufficient.” I come back to that time and time again. God’s generosity. It has to be the start and end for me.

The interview with the Bishop of Berwick, draws to a close and we hug and say our goodbyes. I leave feeling I’ve captured only a fraction of what this man has to offer us about faith and how to live like Jesus, but what I have captured is a start.

Generosity is complex, and challenging. Sometimes we don’t even know how to be generous in certain situations, which is why it’s important to practise generosity regularly in the obvious situations. Mark says this begins when we’re young, and highlights the importance of teaching generosity to our children. We’ve got to get into the practice of it.

Generosity isn’t necessarily about giving a specific amount or percentage away, but rather about being disciplined and thoughtful in a way that is right for each of us.

Generosity is a state of mind and sometimes the challenge is in not seeking gratitude or affirmation, but in taking pleasure in giving anonymously, quietly and out of service to others and to God (even if it means having to kneel on a toilet floor!).

And God. Mark says God gives us everything, and it’s sufficient, so generosity has to start and end with God. Amen.

Trouble Brewing: The Great Refreshment Debate

This article might be a little provocative, but then, if we only wrote/read about that with which we agree, would we continue to grow? I hope this will at least stimulate debate, even if it falls short of direct suggestions or wisdom!

…………………

In December’s article “Room at My table”, the theme was generosity through hospitality. For me, hospitality is an integral part of generosity, and if we can get hospitality right as a church, we’re on the right track. I often encourage people to think about what a really hospitable church would look and feel like.

Churches across the land are good at finishing a service by inviting people to stay back for a chat and a brew, i.e. offering hospitality. This is a story about that after-service gathering. It’s not really a story about any specific church but, in many ways, it is a story about all our churches. And it’s a story that asks a question: “What message are we sending?”

…………………

“And don’t forget, at the end of the service you’re all invited back to our hall for refreshments.”

The vicar was going through the notices before we sang the final hymn and he blessed us and sent us forth to go in peace to love and serve the Lord. Amen.

I always try to hang around for coffee after I preach on Sundays, as it’s a nice way to get to know people and hear what they really thought of the sermon. After a few custard creams people let their guard down and tell the visiting preacher exactly how the sermon could be improved.

As an outsider / visitor / novice church-goer myself, I still feel like the Spectator of Parish Life. Sometimes, I have an internal voice that sounds suspiciously like Sir David Attenborough observing the congregation in their natural setting. Strange but true. On this particular Sunday, Sir David’s charming voice was saying:

“The parishioners were in their natural habitat, gathered around tables in small groups. The mostly female group was drinking coffee and tea, while a few males stood in smaller groups talking. There were plates of digestives, pink wafers and the odd bourbon, the biscuits of choice for the Anglican. The Parishioners appeared relaxed and content in their environment.”

Having been delayed by signing the register, I’d avoided the queue for refreshments, which, it’s important to remember, I’d been invited to partake in.

A very cheerful gentleman put his hand on my shoulder and steered me straight up to the kitchen hatch- behind which all the caffeine magic happens- and insisted, “Someone get this lassy a cuppa!” while another parishioner said, in a spot of post-generosity-sermon-banter, “And you’ll not have to pay for it mind, that one’s on me. See, we’re generous here!”, and they kindly paid for my brew. This was handy, as I had no money on me, having given it all at the offertory.

I was shown to a free seat to enjoy my coffee, and was thoroughly looked after by the jolly people of St. Somewhere’s, who made me feel ever so welcome.

But here’s the rub. Since my appointment 10 months ago, I’ve been lucky enough to visit and preach at dozens of churches. This exposure has been a great learning experience, and has taught me, among other things, that we, the Church are brilliant at refreshments. And, on a seemingly completely separate topic, we’re often rubbish at dealing with the subject of money.

Seemingly separate. But actually linked. You see we get in a right stew over “After service refreshments”. And we’re in a blend when it comes to providing refreshments, charging for refreshments, generously contributing supplies for the refreshments, inviting people to join us for refreshments and putting a plate out for donations for refreshments.

The crux of it is, are we collecting money, or are we offering hospitality? Of course, many people would say we’re doing both – the money covers the cost of the hospitality.

But then, is it really hospitality if people have to pay for it? Many of us would say that no-one actually has to pay for their cup of coffee, but how would a visitor know this? …

In the end, I’m not sure if we really can say we are both offering hospitality and also collecting money.

But wait there! I hear you cry. What if we want to pay our way? Isn’t that being generous? You might disagree with me here, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s like paying for goods rendered, much like in Starbucks, only much, much cheaper.

But more importantly, shouldn’t we consider the people who weren’t expecting to pay, gave all they had during the offertory, or can’t afford to pay? Could we put aside our desire to “pay our way”, in order to be more inclusive?

“Bridging the Gap” Project Officer, Ray Leonard, says “Charging could exclude people who don’t have the money. They’re invisible because of the shame associated with not having enough money, so the problem is never known by the church.

“We’re called to be warm, welcoming and hospitable. Why would we introduce anything that might be a barrier for someone? A suggested donation would be better, but even that has its problems. Someone who doesn’t put money in might feel they’re being judged.”

So if the cost of refreshments isn’t covered by the “customer”…then, by whom?

What if the cost was met by common church funds? If after-service refreshments were first and foremost about generosity through hospitality, would it create the right atmosphere for strengthening bonds between the existing congregation, building friendships with newer members, and bringing into the fold the folks on the edges?

But wait there! I hear you cry again. Can our church funds stretch this far? What about our commitment to contributing our Parish Share to the common diocesan pot[1]? Isn’t the sale of coffee and biscuits an important revenue for our church? Don’t we need this income?

Yes… perhaps. But when it does come to fund raising, whilst every little helps, let’s bear in mind that it probably is just that: very little. If we charge 50p for a coffee, we move firmly into the realms of fundraising (or cost covering), and out of the land of hospitality. And yet we don’t make an awful lot of cash in the process, whilst potentially excluding visitors from partaking.

So, charging for hospitality, is it really worth it?

[1]                      If you don’t know what Parish Share is or what it pays for click here

Jack and the Beans Talk

Once upon a time there was a poor widow who had an only son named Jack. Jack was a hair stylist and worked at Goldilocks, in Stiltskin’s Retail Park. All they had to live on was Jack’s earnings which didn’t amount to much, and he had quite a bit of credit card debt. Still living with his mother in his twenty-second year wasn’t ideal either, but needs must.

Every Sunday, Jack took his mother to the church on the hill in his Vauxhall Corsa. Each week he winced as she put their contribution on the plate during the service, for they had so little to spare, but he was too afraid to tell his mother. Jack had been reckless with money when he was a boy (something to do with selling a cow) and it had taken years to regain his mother’s trust. His mother was serious about contributing generously to church funds because she was a big believer in sacrificing things dear to her as an act of faith, reminding her that God is sovereign and everything is really His. Jack struggled with this, being rather too fond of money to happily give it up.

Today Jack didn’t feel like after-service coffee so he left his Mother to chat with Mrs Hubbard and he took a wander around the cemetery behind the church. He wanted some space. He hadn’t gone far when he met a funny-looking old man, who said to him: “Good morning, Jack.”

“Good morning to you,” said Jack, and wondered how he knew his name.

“Well, Jack, and where are you off to?” said the man.

“Nowhere really, just wandering.” Jack sat on a bench under a giant tree and absentmindedly checked his phone to see if he had any new followers on Twitter. He hadn’t.

The funny-looking old man, who had a crooked nose and crooked legs and crooked stick, walked straight up to him and sat beside him on the bench, sucking in the cool morning air. A moment or two passed in semi-awkward silence. The old man broke it by slapping his thigh and exclaiming,

“Oh, you look the proper sort of chap who’s concerned about this and that,” Jack looked up from his phone. “Tell me about your giving.”

“Excuse me?” said Jack, taken aback. What a personal question, he thought. Who does he think he is? I always attract weirdos. I must have a sign on my forehead that says “Talk to me if you’re…”

The man interrupted his train of thought.

“Your giving. What do you give? How do you feel about it?” said the man, and as he did he offered a brown paper bag to Jack. It was full of assorted beans coated in chocolate, salted caramel and icing sugar. They looked delicious and expensive. “Here you are, Jack, help yourself,” and he presented Jack the paper bag.

Jack paused, irritated and a bit unsure of accepting sweets from strangers, which he was fairly sure he’d been told not to do, but he could see they were from Thornton’s and the packet was newly opened, so he picked a few out and popped them into his mouth. He crunched on his beans and his irritableness seemed to disappear like the fog that had been lingering in the cemetery and was vanishing in the weak sun. With his mouth full, he asked the old man, “So, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know why you find giving hard,” said the man.

“We’ve hardly got anything to give,” he mumbled, still chewing on the beans.

“Yes, thought so,” said the old man looping strands of his wispy beard around his forefinger and staring in the distance. Jack took another handful of beans. He couldn’t help himself. This one was gingerbread flavoured.

“When we give our money to the church, I’m worried we won’t have enough for ourselves.”

“Giving is always an act of faith Jack. But more so when you have little to start with. You show great faith by what you give. But what if I told you about a very special gift? How would you like to give something away and still have just as much of it?”

This man’s insane, thought Jack. But he was curious and he wanted another gingerbread bean. He reached into the paper bag and took another handful.

“Whaddya mean?” spluttered Jack, showering his lap with gingerbread bean crumbs.

The old man emptied what was left of the bag of beans onto the bench and counted them. Twelve beans. Jacks eyes widened. He’d eaten at least a dozen beans, possibly twice as many. But the small bag, which, Jack was very familiar with by now, couldn’t have held that many. Yet here they were on the bench. How could this be? Was it a trick? He’d eaten so many beans.

As Jack’s stared in disbelief, the old man scooped up all the beans, popped them back into the paper bag and slid them into an inside pocket of his tatty jacket.

“Never mind all this beans-talk Jack, let’s talk about the greatest gift you can give.”

Jack didn’t feel like he had any great gifts at all, apart from styling hair. The old man went on, “You have a great gift dear Jack, but you keep it all to yourself. You fret and you worry about giving, and yet all the while you are hoarding great treasure.”

Jack was irritated by this strange man and his beans and his talk of great treasure that Jack was absolutely sure he did not possess.

“So what’s this great treasure I have then? How can I give it away and still have it? What are you on about?”

“You can give it away and not just have it, but have more of it. It grows!”

This is exactly what happens, thought Jack, when you talk to strangers in cemeteries. He’d had quite enough and unless this man was going to open that bag of beans again, he was off. He got to his feet and was about to go but the man leapt up and implored him,

“You have a gift Jack! You have faith,” he pointed his stick back towards the church. “You have the greatest story ever told. You’ve heard it since you were a boy and yet you never share it with anyone. It’s treasure Jack. You talk and talk all day at work but you never share the story of your faith. This is the gift you have Jack and when you share it, you don’t lose a bit of it. You give it away and you still have all of it left. It’s the most special treasure of all. In fact you don’t only get to keep what you started with Jack, but your treasure grows. Your faith gets stronger.”

Jack was stunned. He didn’t know what to say.

“You’re not poor Jack. You’re rich. And you can give it all away without worrying about bills. Give away the story. Tell all your friends. Tell your clients. Tell your neighbour’s dog.” Jack still wondered how this man knew so much about him. “And the Good News is that it’s for ever and it’s for everyone.”

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