Sermon on faith, trust, and generosity by Rev Harry Newton at SumRed Church
A sermon exploring money, fear, and radical generosity through the lens of 2 Corinthians 8 and Isaiah 58.
Summary
Rev Harry Newton delivers the final sermon in a short series on faith, God, and money at SumRed Church, drawing on 2 Corinthians 8:1–9 and Isaiah 58:7–12. He argues that the Church's reluctance to discuss money openly is itself a problem, and that Jesus spoke about money more than almost any other subject — not to solicit it, but to address what it reveals about the human heart. Using the example of the impoverished Macedonian Christians in Paul's letter, and a vivid personal story from a confirmation service in Tanzania, Newton argues that the real barrier to generosity is not selfishness but fear — specifically, the fear of fully trusting God. He closes with a two-month practical challenge: give a noticeable percentage of your income to a chosen charity the moment you are paid, and pay close attention to the internal tension that produces.
Key Takeaways
FULL TRANSCRIPT
Introduction: Why Churches Avoid Talking About Money
Rev Harry Newton: Every couple of years, I like to kick off the year with a focus for at least a couple of weeks on money. And there's a really good reason for this. I just saw quite a few people slightly tense. That's because one knows that in polite company, one does not talk about religion, politics, or money.
Now, my family is hyper-political. My brothers and my adopted sisters all work in parliament — until recently, or recently. I worked in a bank, but the rest of them were all very hyper-political. My dad was a minister, mum and dad were missionaries, and I'm now a minister. So we've ticked off two of the topics — why not tick off the third?
Part of the reason I think why particularly Anglican churches avoid talking about money is because we know it's awkward, isn't it? The vicar hops up and says, "We need money for this, so open your wallets," and everyone goes, "Oh..." It's awkward.
Now, I don't think I've ever heard money talked about in a church well. And I get it — it's hard to talk about well. But I think we need to normalize the conversation around faith, God, and finances, so that we're not only ever talking about it when the church needs some. Because the reality is that money is pretty central to life, isn't it?
The Spiritual Significance of Money
If you've been here for the last couple of weeks, you'll know that we've touched on little elements of the spiritual side of money. And as I've said before, there's nothing wrong with wealth. The amount of money in a bank account should never be a defining element of how others perceive us or how we perceive ourselves. I mean, the reality is it is, to a degree, for some of us — but it shouldn't be. And as awkward as it is, we should talk about money and how to make sense of it spiritually, because money is important spiritually.
I know this to be true because Jesus had a lot to say about money. Did you know that Jesus said more about money than he did about heaven? Fun fact. He gave between 35 and 38 parables, depending on how you define them. And of these 30-plus parables, 16 of them are about money and wealth. That's a large percentage, isn't it?
But the most interesting thing about Jesus and money — and this might surprise you, given how some pastors are about cash — what might surprise you most is that Jesus spoke a lot about money, but he never actually asked for it. The only time he ever asked for money was when he asked someone to give him a coin to use as an illustration, and then, as far as we can tell, he gave it back. He spoke about it a lot, but he wasn't after someone else's hard-earned cash. He was after something else completely different. But he understood that money is a central part of life that you just can't avoid, and he understood that money is important, which is why he spoke about it.
The Four Substitutes for God
Now, two weeks ago we spoke about what we call the four substitutes — or what Thomas Aquinas referred to as the four substitutes for God — things we often substitute in our searching for a sense of completeness, wholeness, and purpose in life: money or wealth, power, pleasure, and honor. And he said about wealth that one of the key things is we can use it to buy stuff, which is good. I don't know about you, but I bought a croissant this morning. So good.
Money is good. It's a nice thing to have enough money to be able to go down and buy a croissant. But the reality is that money is one of those things we often substitute for God. It's not in and of itself bad — we just have a habit of doing that.
So rather than only ever talk about money when the church needs it, I thought it would be good to take a leaf out of Jesus' book and normalize it for a couple of weeks every couple of years. And today is the final week in our semi-formal series on faith, God, and money. Today we're focusing on that second reading from the book of Corinthians, because it's got so much to teach us about faith and trust, generosity and love — but perhaps not in the way you might expect.
Context: Paul's Letters to the Corinthians
But first, a little bit of context. Because whoever's been to a church service before and someone's got up and said stuff and you don't know what's going on — yeah, me too. I'm ordained, which means I'm a priest. I took holy orders back in 2014. I was at a church service at the cathedral late last year, and I sat there thinking, I have no idea what's going on. Do you know why? It was read in Latin. Now, that might be a bit strange, because I don't speak Latin. But even if it's in English, someone can stand up, read something beautiful, and you go, I don't really understand the context.
So, super quick. 1 and 2 Corinthians are both letters available to us in the Bible. The Bible is not a book — it's what's referred to as a canon. Not one that goes boom, sadly. A canon meaning a collection of books. It's got a collection of books which are history, poems, wisdom, lore, gospels — which in themselves are an ancient form of literature known as bios — and much more. And these two letters, 1 and 2 Corinthians, are written by Paul.
If you haven't heard of Paul, I won't bore you with the long version, but suffice to say he was an absolute ratbag. He refers to himself as a total ratbag, says he was amongst the most to be pitied because he was such a terrible person. Before he changed his name to Paul, he was Saul, and he spent his time persecuting men, women, and children who called themselves Christians, and overseeing their torture and execution. He was not a good dude. And then he became a follower of Jesus and went on to become arguably the most influential person in the history of Christianity outside of Jesus Christ himself.
He writes these two letters to the church in Corinth. The first letter gives us a glimpse into his relationship with them, which as far as we can tell was tumultuous at best. He seems to have had a bit of a falling out with the other Christians in this place called Corinth. And then in the second letter — 2 Corinthians, which is what we're reading from this morning — we see Paul seeking to repair his relationships, explain a change to his travel plans, and to confront some drama in the church. There's never drama in churches, is there? Ever.
But most importantly for us, he's making arrangements for the collection of money for believers in Jerusalem experiencing hardship. Now, as far as we can tell, this is the first time in the history of the planet that a collection was taken up — charity donations taken up to help others across a transnational boundary. Interesting, hey?
There was a big famine going on. If you know the book of Acts, or if you were here late last year when we touched on part of what's called the book of Acts, you'll know that the early church in Jerusalem got in the habit of sharing everything in common and giving everything away. Wonderful in the moment — but up to 20 years later, there's no money left, and the famine hits, and they have no way of feeding themselves. So Paul takes up this collection.
The Macedonian Example: Generosity from Poverty
And in this section of the letter we just heard from, Paul is concentrating on encouraging the church in Corinth to give generously to this collection he's taking up for the Christians in Jerusalem. He starts by singing the praises of a third church in a place called Macedonia, about 700-and-something kilometres north. He tells us that he originally shied away from allowing the Macedonians to give to his appeal. He tells us they essentially begged for the right to give. And the reason he turned them down at first was because they themselves lived in poverty. But eventually he caved and accepted the generous gift — not generous because they gave a lot of money, but generous because it was given out of genuine poverty. Because in giving financially to help their Christian whānau in Jerusalem, the Macedonians were giving more than anyone would consider reasonable. And despite their own poverty, they had actually given far more than those in the Corinthian church gave out of their relative abundance.
There's something quite striking about that, I think. And challenging. Paul's point was that the generosity of the poverty-stricken Macedonian church was his declaration of what real sacrifice, real worship looks like. Trust — total trust and dependence upon God.
A Personal Story: The Confirmation Service in Tanzania
Now, I've shared this story before, so if you've heard it before, smile and nod. But I was born overseas. Back when I was about 18 or 19, my dad took me back to East Africa and we were travelling around, and we ended up in a place called Kagera in northern Tanzania. We were about four hours out on safari. We left around dawn, and we were with a guy called Bishop Aaron, and we got to a confirmation service. This is where people who have been baptised later on reaffirm or confirm their baptismal vows. It's a big do.
When we arrived, the service had already been going for some time. It started at 7am and it finished at 7pm. How's that for a church service? And there were literally thousands of people. This area here — you can see out this window — was a fraction of the space. Literally just thousands and thousands. There was an estimated 4,000 children in their Sunday school, to give you an idea of how large the crowd was.
And it was awesome. The worship was next-level good. It was amazing. They had multiple bands playing at the same time, playing different songs. It was chaos. There were people dancing. There were scripture readings happening multiple times. Several sermons in different languages because they speak different dialects. And multiple confirmations.
And who here has heard of the Association of Anglican Women? If you haven't heard of them, they're a bit old school now. But the Association of Anglican Women, weirdly enough, is bigger in Tanzania than it is in England where it started. And they had a hat competition. The women would come forward in cohorts in matching outfits with these amazing hats, and they'd dance back and forth, coming slowly forward — two steps forward, one step back. And when they got to the front, they'd take off the hat and present it to the bishop. And he had to judge which woman would walk away with the coveted pineapple. Kid you not. The whole thing was awesome.
And just before the final communion — because we had multiple communions, because there were so many people — it was time for some good old-fashioned fundraising, because they wanted to build a church. They wanted to build a church that could seat 4,000 people at their Sunday school. And at the time, all they had was a tatty tarpaulin to give them some shade. Now, the tarpaulin obviously wasn't big enough to cover everyone. They had two sacks filled with sand, and the vicar and his wife had left quite early in the morning and turned up with a door off their mud hut. They came along on the back of their little scooter, set it up precariously on top, put four poles in, and stretched out an old aid sack across to provide some shade. That's all they had for their so-called church, and they really wanted to build one.
So much ado was made as people came forward with their gifts from the crowd and placed them down. As they came forward, the bands would all start playing different tunes at the same time — chaos. There'd be other representatives from the Association of Anglican Women, and the deacon who was emceeing the whole proceedings would come up and pray for them and say thank you, and it was all very exciting. And my dad, at one point, put $100 in the plate — more money than most people there would see in their lives — and you would have thought he'd won Lotto.
But there's one point in the whole hoopla that was so incredibly moving. There was an old man — an Imzai — literally in rags. He was almost naked. He had a loincloth on with a rope and a ragged shirt that you could see through. You could see his ribs and everything. Very emaciated. And he came forward with a load of sticks. He stumbled under the weight and he put them down in front of the table. And he was greeted with just as much enthusiasm as the people who put a few shillings in the plate.
And the bishop explained to us that this man had no money to give because he was so poor. So he had instead travelled for hours. Because there was an aid camp nearby, and what had happened is all the trees had gone — deforestation had led to desertification in the area because there was no more rain. So this man had just travelled as far as he could until he found sticks. He collected as many as he could and brought them back, and he presented them as his donation. The vicar and his wife took them to cook their meals for them and their kids, and they gave their own cash into the plate to go towards the building.
The Challenge of Radical Trust
Now, I'm told that in some churches, there's a lot of talk about tithing and donating. We talk about it occasionally here too. But I know some churches talk about it a lot. A church over in Australia that my cousins go to — everyone's encouraged to hold their hand in the air during the offertory time and hold money in their hand. And if you don't have money, you put your hand up and someone will put money in your hand, so you can put it in the plate as it goes past and experience God's blessings.
I'll be honest — that makes me feel really uncomfortable. And in the past, I've told myself I feel like that because churches that do that are often full of the vulnerable — people who Amy and I have ministered alongside in South Auckland and in the Wairarapa and even here, and many of you I'm sure have met as well — the vulnerable who can least afford it, who have somehow been manipulated out of their money by people like the celebrity pastors who we all won't name but we think of in the news, who live in opulence while their people can't even afford to pay the bills.
But you know what? That's a cop-out. That's not true. Because if I'm honest with myself, the real cause of my unease is actually in the challenge found in our reading this morning. The Macedonian Christians, just like that old man, gave to an extreme — not just from their poverty, but from their simple trust in God. The very trust required of those who love God with all their heart, understanding, and strength, and love their neighbor as themselves.
The Growth of Christianity in the Global South
If there's one thing that characterizes the explosion of the church in the Global South — because despite what we might see in the West, with church attendance being quite low and affirmations of faith being all over the place, the church is growing faster now than it ever has. The average Christian a few years ago was a black woman in her mid-twenties living in sub-Saharan Africa. We're now not sure whether she's Latina, Chinese, or sub-Saharan African, because the church is exploding so quickly. That's wonderful.
But what characterizes this rebirth and explosion of Christianity is not full-on worship. It's not even amazing hats. It's not indigenous expression. It's nothing like that. The real hallmark of the new Christendom is simply this: simple trust that Jesus' story is true, and therefore everything is different.
"Walk in the light" is a catch cry in East Africa. It's been a catch cry in the church revival there for a long time now, because it's in the light of the Jesus story that everything is seen and done differently. How we regard God, ourselves, our neighbors, our world — it changes completely when we step out and grab hold of what we call the gospel as a truth with a capital T to be lived out. Not as a vague spiritual truth that we opt in or out of, but something that actually is true.
What Is the Gospel?
That begs the question, of course: what is the gospel? Because I hate it when you go to church and people use Christianese and then you're kind of like, not sure if we're on the same page. The word gospel is actually Greek. It means good news. And the good news is that we are more broken and flawed in ourselves than we ever did believe, and yet at the same time, we are more loved and accepted in Jesus than we ever did hope. That is the good news of Jesus.
God does not love you or me because we are serviceable or flawless or good or tick the right theological or social box. He loves us simply because he loves us. And that is the kind of love you can be 100% secure in, because it's the only kind of love you can never lose — because you didn't earn it. That's what we mean by grace. God's unmerited favor made known to us through Jesus, working in our lives to change our lives for the better. And the best part is there is no one so good that they don't need this grace, and there's no one so bad that they can't receive it.
This good news of grace underpins every step of the Christian life, and it changes our reality because in the light of it, everything is different. How we regard God, ourselves, our neighbor, our world — it all changes when we step out and grab hold of this good news as a truth to be lived.
Fear as the Root of Impoverished Faith
And I don't know about you, but I find the Macedonian Christians in our reading this morning, the bent-over African Imzai, even the former gang member at the pseudo-Pentecostal church in South Auckland — I find these people really challenging. Because what holds me back from their sort of trust in God? What keeps me from their sort of commitment and open-hearted generosity? Education? Yeah, maybe. Hard-won experience? Not so much. Responsibilities to my family? Yeah, to a degree, probably.
But as I think about it, I think the real answer lies elsewhere. Maybe it's about faith — or at least the very kind of faith I have, or better yet, don't have. And from that, maybe it's actually about fear.
You see, it's one thing to say the creeds. Those are affirmations of faith. It's one thing to read the scriptures. It's one thing to study them, pray reasonably regularly, to sing God's praises, pray in tongues, even give generously by most standards. These are all really good things to do. But it's another to completely abandon not just myself, but my wife and my children, into God's care.
And if I'm being 100% honest with myself, when it comes to trusting God, there are times when I'm more in the camp of the Arab saying: pray to Allah, but tie up your camel. At the end of the day, I'm what my granddad would have called a five-bob-each-way kind of guy. Or for those of you from financial backgrounds, my clergy pension fund is ethically invested — but it's now hedged and diversified as well. The irony, of course, is that such an apparently shrewd approach to life leaves me impoverished. Why? Because it's rooted in fear. Fear of what will happen if I commit to something which may not perform or may not turn out to be the way I hoped it would be.
Such is the skepticism of our time — a time which values freedom above all else, and yet, propelled by insecurity, enslaves itself to the limited choices of a never-satisfied consumerism.
And against all this, the real issue the Macedonian Christians in Paul's letter put before not just us but actually even just me is not a challenge to simply tithe more or give more. It's much more radical and demanding than that. It's radical because it gets to the root of my faith, and it demands something concrete from me — demands everything from me, not just 10%.
You see, fear is something that Jesus was incredibly aware of. In fact, his most common instruction in the Bible is some variation of "do not fear." Because what does fear do? It debilitates us. And it leaves us impoverished because it prevents us from fully loving God — loving God with all that we are and all that we have, and loving our neighbor as ourselves.
That sort of faith is beyond belief, and it's got less to do with believing the right things like the creeds, praying in tongues, having the right theology, going to church regularly, being in a home group — you fill in the blank. That sort of faith is beyond belief, and it's got less to do with all that stuff than it simply has to do with letting go and trusting God for everything in your life.
The Two-Month Challenge
And so, bringing this all together — I have to say, I write 50-something sermons a year, and it could very easily hop into the trap of just quickly smashing out a couple of commentaries, finding something nice and neat and clever to say, writing it down, and presenting it. But I like to spend a good two days a week preparing my sermon, not because I'm amazing at sermons, but because I pray for it a lot. And I find myself getting convicted by what's in here, and I get convicted by this.
So the challenge I saw in this, as I was reading and praying for it this week, is that of faith. Faith is simple trust in the goodness of God — trust that liberates me to total dependence on God and issues forth in sacrificial generosity to others.
So, I did this last week just to end — I've got a challenge. If you want to know deep down whether you're comfortable with trusting fully in God's goodness, I want to encourage you to take up my challenge from last week. Now, just a quick caveat: if you don't consider yourself a follower of Jesus, one, you're welcome here, but two, you get a free pass. But for those of us here who do consider ourselves followers of Jesus, I've got a challenge.
For the next two months — not two weeks, not two paychecks, but for the next two months — I want you to choose a percentage of your income, and I want you to give it away as soon as you get paid. I'm not going to define how much you should give away. That's up to you and your life situation. It's important, though, that it's not just like half a percent. It has to be the amount you actually notice — the amount that might actually make you go, "Oh." And whatever that amount is, I want you to give it away as soon as it comes into your account.
And by the way, I don't want you to give to church. This is not my roundabout way of asking you to give more money to church. Please don't. Instead, I want you to pick an organization that supports something you love — something that breaks your heart, something that sets your soul on fire with passion. It could be the City Mission, Médecins Sans Frontières, Empower Latin America, Pathway Trust — you name it. It's up to you. Just pick an organization. And as soon as you get paid, as soon as the money comes into your account, take that percentage and give it away.
But the second part of the challenge is this. I want you to then pay attention to the internal tension that creates inside you. When you start thinking about the challenge I'm giving you, I want you to hit pause and ask yourself: what is this tension really about? I want you to listen to that internal conversation — like the one you might already be having in your head, arguing with me right now. I want you to pay attention to the internal tension it creates, because I want you to discover what's really at the center of your discomfort. Because I suspect for at least some of us, it might be about fear.
Because as I said earlier, it's one thing to say the creeds, to read the scriptures, to study them, pray regularly, sing God's praises, pray in tongues, give generously by most standards — all good things. But it's another to abandon not just myself, but my wife and my children, to God's care. And so while I trust God, I'm aware also that I'm flawed. And there is always a temptation for me to hedge my bets and make sure I'm safe financially, and for my generosity to therefore be measured. The irony, of course, is that such an apparently shrewd approach to life will always leave me impoverished, because it's rooted in fear. Fear of what will happen if I commit fully to following Jesus and then it turns out to not be exactly what I hoped it to be.
So there's my challenge to you. For two months from now, give a percentage of your choice to an organization of your choice — please not the church. City Mission, Médecins Sans Frontières, Empower Latin America — it's up to you. Just pick an organization. And then pay attention to the tension it produces inside you. And then ask yourself, truly and honestly: do I trust in the goodness of God? Because you'll find that when you do, your trust will liberate you into total dependence upon God, and it will issue forth in radical generosity to others that you didn't even know you had inside you.