Just asking

“We need money so we can grow our church.” I had thought I’d get a cup of coffee and some toast and jam, but when my table mate started talking about money, I knew I was going to get more than simply breakfast that morning. “There is money in my church. People just need to give.” I am not in the habit of talking about money and the church so early in the morning. In fact, I wasn’t doing any of the talking that morning. Sitting across from me in the basement of the Anglican Communion Office in London was a new Bishop from Papua New Guinea and next to him, the Archbishop of Polynesia. “Money makes ministry work”. All I could do was nod and smile and provide an occasional gesture indicating that I was listening. I was sure that I if I was back home with colleagues I would be choking on my toast right now. The Bishop from Papua continued to speak of the work before him in the smallest and poorest of the dioceses. The Archbishop at one point asked him how we planned to find this money he keeps referring to. “I’ll ask people for it”, the bishop replied.

I learned through the subsequent conversations that the church in Papua New Guinea is growing. “My former parish is bursting at the seams,” the bishop said without a trace of arrogance. “I visit churches in Australia and England, and find them empty. When I go home, I tell people this. They don’t believe me.”  The bishop continued: “We have people and people will give money. We will grow even more. Money helps this way.” I wondered how his words would be received in the States. The Episcopal Church has been in decline since the 1960’s, slipping 3% or more in our numbers each year. Yet, the Episcopal Church is by and large a wealthy church. We sometimes talk as though money will fix all our problems. Of course, we don’t often talk about money at all in the church. I share writer Lillian Daniel’s assessment of ‘money talk’ in the church. Daniel’s writes that the church doesn’t ignore money. We can’t because we need it to survive. But instead of talking about it openly and honestly, we collect it and put it quickly on its own little shelf. No wonder we see it as a dilemma when the church coffers are emptying; we’ve placed it outside of the host of topics that shape our life as Christians. As I sit and listen to the bishop, my doubts grow as to whether what he is saying is the same as what we say when we speak of pledging and stewardship. For us it is a program of donations and not-for-profit giving; for the people of Papua New Guinea, giving is directly tied to the wellbeing of the church. Money makes things possible, I can imagine the bishop saying.

“We need to be self-sufficient.” The bishop has taken a few bites of his now cold breakfast and suddenly offered a few more words. For a few minutes while the bishop ate, the Archbishop had spoken of what it looks like to minister in Fiji under a military dictator. Here sits three Anglicans; all three of us (originally) from the South Pacific. I must admit that Navesink felt very far away indeed at that moment. “We have been reliant on the wealth of the churches in Australia, England and America for too long. It’s time for us to grow up. It’s time for us to ask our own people for money instead of begging money from elsewhere.” The Papua New Guinean bishop had returned to his topic du jour. But this time he wanted to emphasize that money is something that we use in service of reaching particular and important goals. Money serves the mission of the church, and not the other way around. “When I get home,” the bishop remarked, “we will begin to collect what we can. I have some plans to rent a ship to carry our cocoa, coffee and bananas to the markets.” He wants to rent a ship! My reaction to this comment drew a surprised look from the Archbishop. I noted that my coffee had gone down the wrong pipe. In truth, I was imagining All Saints’ renting a ship to bring, well, um, tourists to see, well, um, New York City. Yes, I was impressed. It wasn’t just the bishop’s vision, which was bold and exciting; it was the lack in his speech of the usual distinctions we make in the modern West between worship, fund raising, outreach and growth. It was simply being the church that interested the bishop, not programs or strategies or committees. It was the church being the church. The bishop reminded me that his diocese is small and poor. “If the church can assist the farmers, then everyone will be better off,” the bishop concluded. 

I had come down from room 5 on the second floor of St. Andrew’s house thinking that what awaited me was a lovely breakfast prepared with care by Ann Quirke, the Guest House Manager. What I received was something more. Sitting at table with two bishops, we shared not only a meal, but something like communion. When was the last time a conversation about money felt like a holy meal? On that Monday morning, I become aware that our ambivalence when it comes to speaking of or asking for money needs to be put aside. In its place, I believe, we could benefit from some of the New Guinean bishop’s trust that ‘money talk’ is part of our life together as the church. It is not about being bold about money, I think it has more to do with a recognition that our money serves greater purposes - greater goods - like that of worship and service to God, and support and service to our common life together and our care of those in need.

We need money so we can grow our church. There is money in my church. People just need to give. Money makes ministry work. Does it feel strange to hear such things? We ought to make it the most normal of things to hear, even over the breakfast table. Let’s try it, shall we?