He would explain to the congregation that our fellowship believed that giving back to God was important and meaningful, and that we wanted every single person to be included. For that reason, before the collection plates were passed, there was a giving and receiving that took place among the crowd.
"If you have come here today with plenty to share," Dad would say, "please make sure that those around you have something to put in the plate. If you are here, and for whatever reason, find yourself with nothing to offer, I assure you there is a neighbor who is ready to share. In community, we'll be fully prepared for our time of worship through giving."
I remember sitting there as a college student home on break, holding only my Bible (because my purse had clashed with my skirt or something) assuming I could skip out on the ol' offering plate. But no. Silly Pastor Guy was super into group work, generosity, and gratitude so off the script we stepped.
I had arrived late and had taken a seat on the back edge of the crowd, so I wasn't sitting near anyone with whom I felt close enough to beg. I just sat there, empty hands resting on the leather Bible in my lap. After staring at my crossed leg for several seconds, watching the toe of my shoe gently kick the air in subtle rhythmic nervousness, I knew I had to engage.
In the purposeful pause filled with a hushed and happy hub-bub, I glanced up to find several people waiting to catch my eye, ready to share what they had with me. With a forced grin, I took two quarters from the kind-looking woman reaching across the aisle. I steadied my posture square in my seat again, relieved to have my problem solved, annoyed that THIS was my dad's way of building culture, and slightly resentful that I had gotten all tangled up in it.
But once the blinding throbs of social anxiety dissipated, I realized there was a peaceful sense of joy spreading through the room and filling my heart as well.
The next Sunday, not only did I have my tithes prepared, but I also had a couple loose dollar bills ready to share with anyone who needed them.
*Silly Preacher Dude was not a stupid man.
This Christmas maybe you're like me, and you feel like you're showing up a little empty-handed for this whole thing. Tardy and tired, you feel you have nothing to give. I hope you'll keep your seat! Help is on the way. You'll have to look up past your own two feet and brave an unexpected connection to humbly receive. Come as you are. Community is happening. Joy and peace await!
Perhaps this Christmas, you're like me, and you feel a great deal of compassion and sympathy for those who are along the edges, waiting quietly in need. I hope you'll look around! You'll need to lock eyes with a stranger or friend, and brave an unexpected connection to humbly offer grace. Come as you are. Community is happening. Joy and peace await!
