Generosity is all about agency

And giving, I have learned, generates hope.

I was recently talking about giving in front of my brick-and-mortar congregation. It was the end of the service, during a fundraising announcement, and my tired brain was struggling to put words together. I shared a bit of my story growing up surrounded by a family that was low-income—yet also incredibly generous and community-centered. Despite having little, my family’s life revolved around hospitality and giving.

I shared that now as an adult, and especially as a mom navigating seasons of financial instability, I’ve had to face my own inclinations (or lack thereof) around giving, especially to the church. My husband and I, after years of resistance, grumpily deconstructed the tithing model: “There is no way we are giving 10% to our church!” And while the critiques of pressured giving remain strong in our home, over time my husband and I have made it a core practice in our household to give generously to people, organizations, and, yes, churches that embody the kind of Beloved Community we believe in.

I walked away from that Sunday morning church announcement thinking, I really didn’t say what I meant to say. So I’ve been reflecting on what I did mean to say. Why do I actually give? And why does it matter, especially for those of us carrying church wounds around tithing and money talk?

For me, giving has become a way of shifting my focus from scarcity to agency. It’s a practice of remembering that I get to choose how I invest my resources in people and systems I believe in. When the world feels tragic, when suffering seems to swallow up hope, I can still—through my small, ordinary bank account—pour something tangible into the places that nurture life and goodness.

Giving isn’t about indebtedness. I am not indebted to give to people, nonprofits, or churches.

Instead, giving is a spiritual discipline of hospitality, surrender, and hope. It’s a way of saying, “I believe enough in this world, in this community, in this God, to give something of myself to its flourishing.”

And lately, I’m learning to live this from both sides. I’m learning to boldly ask for funding for our churches—from denominations, friends, and family—trusting that inviting others to give is also an act of hope. And at the same time, I’m learning to boldly give, even when times feel tight, believing that generosity always expands what’s possible.

As we move toward the end of the year and the holiday season comes alive, maybe the question for each of us is this: In what ways do we want to participate in hope? Where do we want to give, whether it’s to a neighbor, a local nonprofit, or a community like Harbor? It doesn’t have to be much. A single dollar, a shared meal, or a simple act of generosity can become an investment in hope.

Pastors’ note: if you’re reading this, there’s a decent chance you’ll receive an email from one of us in the next month about giving financially to support Harbor. We only do this once each year. There is no pressure to give; you are not financially indebted to us. That email will simply be what Dottie described above—an invitation to choose how you invest your resources, to hope with us, to expand what’s possible.