Continually (How to Give #6)
Today we conclude our generosity series. If this is your first time joining us, it’s actually fine that you’re catching the very end — this message is the culmination of everything we’ve been building toward. (Which I realize might make everyone who sat through the first five weeks wonder whether they wasted their time. You didn’t.)
The Monday Lunch Table
My sophomore year of high school, I sat at the same lunch table with the same group of friends every day, and I started noticing a pattern to the week. Every Monday they’d all start saying strange things, sometimes in strange voices, and everyone would howl with laughter. I’d sit there clueless and a little left out, unable to figure out what was going on.
By Tuesday and Wednesday I’d have caught on — the right voice, the right phrasing — and I could join in on the inside jokes. Then the next Monday, the whole thing would reset.
After a few weeks I finally had to ask where all these jokes were coming from. Turns out Monday lunch was a recap of Saturday Night Live.
I didn’t want to be the clueless sophomore anymore, so I decided I’d stay up on Saturday and watch it myself. I’ll be honest with you: I was underwhelmed. It drove me nuts that they were reading off cue cards, looking past each other to land the lines. Some of the jokes just weren’t that funny to me. I didn’t quite get it.
In fact, I enjoyed the show far more on Mondays, because my friends were funnier recapping it than the actual program had been. I kept at it for several weeks until my interest faded, and I didn’t pay much attention to it again until well after high school.
But just because I decided to ignore that show doesn’t mean it decided to ignore me. These days it seems to pursue me everywhere. I open a social media app and someone has shared a sketch. I go to a video site looking for something entirely unrelated and there it is in my recommendations. I’ll admit that occasionally I give in to curiosity, click, and — usually — feel let down. Every so often something is genuinely funny, so if you’re a fan, I understand. It’s just not where I go for my laughs.
The Sketch That Stopped Me Cold
It happened again this week. I was in my own cozy corner of the internet with a mug of tea in one hand and my phone in the other, scrolling through a news app, when an article came up about the latest episode. The writer thought it was the best of the season, described a few segments, and then said one in particular was her favorite — and embedded the video right there.
It was a parody trailer for a fake movie about a brutal marriage. The host and another cast member play a couple whose relationship is unbearable, going at each other while an announcer explains this is obviously awards-bait. They cut to fake moviegoers describing how excruciating it is, fake pull quotes, even a fake marriage counselor. And the entire premise builds toward one implied question: if it’s that bad, why don’t you just get divorced?
Finally the counselor says it out loud — get a divorce. And the wife responds that no, they want to fight a little longer, because they know it’ll get better. The counselor rolls his eyes. And we, the audience, are meant to roll our eyes along with him. Because after all, marriage is temporary, like everything else. If it isn’t working out, go get a new one.
I know saying that could sound cold or crass. If you’ve been through a divorce, or you’re in a genuinely difficult marriage right now, or you grew up in a home marked by divorce, I don’t want you thinking I’m treating that as no big deal or insisting people should stay put no matter what.
My point is narrower. The people who wrote that parody could not even fathom the idea that a couple in a hard season might want to fight for their marriage and honor the vows they made before God and witnesses. The very notion was the punchline. If it’s brutal, get a divorce and get a new marriage.
We Treat Everything as Disposable
That’s how we tend to approach life. We see everything as temporary. We swap hobbies. The phone dies, get a new one. Want a different car, a different job, a different relationship — we dispose and move on, because everything is temporary.
On one level, that’s true. We’ve already talked in this series about how you can’t take what you own into the afterlife. It’s yours for a season. That’s exactly why we say everything you own is God’s and you’re a steward of it — it’s only temporarily in your hands.
But I think we drag that mindset into far too many places. It keeps us from persevering — from fighting to strengthen a marriage, from figuring out how to do a job well and rightly, from working through difficulties inside a church. Too often we simply don’t want to persevere. Everything’s temporary, so we discard one thing and move to the next.
And some of us bring that same instinct to generosity. We treat generosity as a season. Maybe I’m making enough money right now, or my schedule has some margin, so I’ll be generous — I’ll donate to the homeless shelter, volunteer at the food pantry, clean out my closet and take it all to a thrift store. And when I do, I feel great. Warm, satisfied, like I did a good thing.
Then the feeling fades. This isn’t fun anymore. I’m not enjoying it the way I did. And instead of persevering, we quit — treating generosity as a phase, a temporary thing, one more disposable item we set down and walk away from.
Generosity Should Be Like Breathing
What I hope to show you today from 2 Corinthians 9 is that generosity is not disposable. It’s not temporary. It isn’t something we do briefly to feel good about ourselves before moving on to other things.
Generosity needs to be like breathing. Like blinking. Automatic.
Because what we’re going to see is that generosity is bound up with the gospel — the two cannot be separated. And since the gospel, the story of Jesus Christ dying on a cross for our sins, is not some temporary tale we enjoy for a while before moving to the next story — since it is permanent — our generosity should be permanent too.
We’ll talk about how there are different seasons. But I hope you hear this clearly: there is not supposed to be a season in which we say, “I’m simply not going to be generous at all.” We’re called to give generously continually.
The Bookend of the Series
Second Corinthians 9:12–15 is a beautiful bookend, not just to the chapter but to this entire series. Paul writes that the ministry of this service is not only supplying the needs of the saints, but is also overflowing in many thanksgivings to God. By their approval of this service, they will glorify God because of the submission that flows from their confession of the gospel of Christ and the generosity of their contribution to them and to all others, while they long for them and pray for them because of the surpassing grace of God upon them. And then Paul closes: thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift.
When we started this series in verses 1–5, we discovered that Paul is taking up a collection. Back in August, during our “Defining Church” series, we saw in Acts 2 that the church took care of one another — people sold possessions and used the proceeds so that those in poverty would no longer lack anything.
What the Jerusalem church was doing expanded outward as Paul traveled the known world planting churches. Congregations began learning that they had brothers and sisters in Christ in other cities living in poverty, and they wanted to do what other Christians were doing. They wanted to give.
The church in Corinth, which Paul had planted several years earlier, heard about it and wanted to participate. That’s why at the end of chapter 8 Paul mentions sending Titus and others to organize the collection, and why he opens chapter 9 by saying it’s superfluous — essentially unnecessary — for him to write to them about this ministry, because he knows their readiness. In other words: you already said you wanted in, so I know you’re prepared.
But he doesn’t want them giving for the wrong reasons. That’s why over five weeks we’ve been learning to give expectantly, bountifully, willingly, cheerfully, truthfully. Paul doesn’t want the Corinthians — or us, by extension — giving with impure motives or in the wrong way.
Two-Way Thanksgiving
Now, in verse 12, he returns to the collection: it supplies the needs of the saints. Bring your gift in, we’ll send it to Jerusalem, and needs will be met. But he adds something. It will not only supply needs — it will also overflow in many thanksgivings to God.
We saw this at the end of verse 11 last week: your generosity produces thanksgiving. It produces thanksgiving in the recipient, and it produces thanksgiving in you. You’ll be grateful for what you got to do, grateful that God used you that way.
That’s what healthy, Christ-centered ministry looks like. The one who receives is thankful, and the one who gave and led is thankful too.
I think about my friendship with Tom. I met Tom in Cedar Rapids, when he was the associate pastor at a Lutheran church. On the surface, Tom and I had no business being friends. He was the associate pastor at what would be considered a liberal church; I was the young adult pastor at what would be considered a conservative one. In our day and age, those two don’t mix. We should have manufactured all sorts of stories about each other — you believe that, so you’re wrong — and he should have thought the same about me.
I’ll admit something embarrassing: I did make assumptions based on the kind of church he served. I thought, “He’s wrong, but I’ll be nice.”
And then every single time I spent time with Tom, I’d leave convicted — in the best possible way. Because Tom was actually living the kind of life I realized I wanted to live. Watching how he arranged his schedule, how he interacted with people, I kept thinking: that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. I belonged to the church that believed those things, and here he was actually doing them while I was mostly talking about them.
Yet I never once felt judged by him. Every interaction lifted me up. I walked away thankful every time. I’m profoundly grateful God put Tom in my life — our church would not be where it is without his influence on me all those years ago.
And here’s the thing: if you called Tom right now and asked about our friendship, I can guarantee he’d say, “I’m so thankful for that guy,” and start listing ways God used me in his life. That’s what healthy Christian relationships look like. Both parties — giver and receiver — come away thankful.
A Word About the Other Kind of Relationship
Which means if you find yourself in a relationship with someone who says they follow Jesus, but you regularly walk away spiritually beaten up and emotionally worn out, you may need to take a hard look at that relationship.
I’m not saying there’s no place for rebuke or correction. There absolutely is. Hard conversations are sometimes deeply necessary, and they’re for our good — they build us up. But if it’s an ongoing pattern where you’re constantly torn down and never walk away thankful, reconsider who you’re allowing to speak into your life. Christians are called to love one another, and love builds up. If you’re only ever being broken down, that isn’t getting you where you need to go.
“They Approve of the Service”
Paul goes further in verse 13. Not only will the recipients be thankful — they will approve of the service.
Sit with that for a second. Some of these saints are living in poverty. They receive the gift, and they approve of it. They look at it and say: yes, that is good. That is right.
That is not very Iowan of them.
In Iowa, someone asks, “Are you doing okay? Do you need help?” and we say, “Oh, I’m fine.” Meanwhile we may be in a genuine financial crisis. But we don’t want to look weak or needy, so we lie. Nope, fine.
Or we’re in emotional poverty. Relationships are fracturing, we feel desperately alone. “How are you doing?” “Good, things are going fine.” And we’re dying inside.
Or we’re spiritually impoverished. God feels a thousand miles away. But I’m the pastor — a professional Christian. “How are you doing?” “Oh, God is so good.” And I could be lying through my teeth, not doing well at all, but I’ve got to put on a show, because people see me in leadership and I can’t let anyone know.
The saints receiving this gift are clearly more mature than we are. Less selfish. Less consumed by pride. They look at the gift and say yes, this is good, this is necessary — because they understand that if God has called them to go and be a blessing and live like Jesus, their poverty is preventing them from accomplishing it. The gift lifts them up, because that’s what love does. They’re no longer impoverished, and now they can go be the blessing God called them to be.
So if you’re struggling right now — financially, emotionally, spiritually — don’t be Iowan about it. Be a follower of Jesus. Let us in. We want to help unleash you to go be a blessing to the world. Don’t let pride keep you isolated. Let God humble you. Let people walk alongside you.
Obviously not everyone — be wise about who you let in. But don’t do it alone. And as you watch what they do for you, you’ll arrive at that same place: I approve. That was good. That was needed. Because we need you on the front lines with us, bringing this gospel and God’s love into the world.
And notice what their approval produces: they glorify God. Ultimately, if you follow Jesus, that’s what you want. That’s where all of this is headed.
The Question Underneath the Question
Here’s where Paul gets to the heart of it. Everything in verses 12 and 13 — everything in all of 2 Corinthians 9, really — is driving toward one point. To see it, let me ask a question: Why do the recipients approve of the gift? Why do they give glory to God?
The surface answer is right there at the end of verse 13: because of the generosity of your contribution for them and for all others. If your Bible were closed and I asked why they approve, you’d say, “Well, because the gift was good. It was kind.” Yes. That’s obvious. Generous giving blesses people, fills them with thanksgiving, and moves them to glorify God. Generosity begets that response. Generosity begets joy.
But there’s a second answer, and it’s in the middle phrase: because of your submission that comes from your confession of the gospel of Christ.
Read it again. Because of your submission — the word can also be translated obedience — that comes from your confession of the gospel of Christ.
In other words: if you follow Jesus, you understand that God the Son came to earth, took on human flesh, lived a sinless life, died in the sinner’s place, and then a couple of days later rose from the dead — came out of the grave fully alive, not metaphorically but truly, physically, spiritually, in every way. And if you believe that story, then you are to live in such a way that you are driven and motivated toward generosity. Because at the heart of generosity is the gospel.
The Gospel Is a Story About Generosity
Maybe the better way to say it is this: the gospel is all about generosity.
Think about it. The gospel says God so loved the world that he generously gave his one and only Son, so that whoever believes in him would not perish but find eternal life. The gospel shows us that Jesus Christ did not come to be served but to serve, and to generously give his life as a ransom for many. The gospel tells us the Holy Spirit generously opens our eyes, convicts us of our sin, helps us see our need for Jesus, and generously invites us into this life-changing reality.
The gospel itself is a story of generosity. And if you say you follow Jesus, you’re saying this generous story is now who you are. This is what you’re about.
Which is why Paul ends in verse 15: thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift. Many translations use “indescribable” — and I know that just saying that word puts a certain worship song in some of your heads. The gift is so amazing, so mind-blowing, so breathtaking that you try to describe it, you try to express it, and you simply cannot do it justice.
And what is the gift? Jesus. Salvation. Forgiveness of our sins. The gospel. And because the gospel is that indescribable, inexpressible gift, it ought to send us out to be extraordinarily generous toward others.
The Problem Is, Many of Us Aren’t
Years ago I got to know a man who had grown up in a Christian home but wandered away completely in his teens and twenties — not merely from church but from the faith entirely. He made his whole life about himself. He struggled to hold a job because he’d drink until all hours, oversleep through the hangover, and miss work. After the third or fourth time, employers stop keeping you around. So he kept losing jobs, and he never changed the lifestyle. Nearly everything he earned went to alcohol on Friday and Saturday nights, and almost every one of those nights he took a different person home. And yet he told me he had never had a girlfriend — never had anyone look at him and say, I care about you. I love you.
He reached a place that looked a lot like the prodigal son. In the story Jesus tells, the son goes to his father and asks for his inheritance early — which is essentially saying, Dad, I wish you were dead. He takes his portion, squanders it on wild living, and ends up feeding pigs. If you understand Judaism, for a Jew to be associated with pigs was the deepest possible insult. The young man realizes he has hit absolute bottom — even his father’s servants have it better than he does — and he heads home, not to be a son again, but to beg for a job, because he’s that hungry and that poor.
That was my friend. He hit the absolute bottom, finally woke up, realized he needed Jesus, and returned to the faith he’d been raised with. I had the joy of watching him grow in his relationship with God. There were plenty of mistakes along the way — he stumbled constantly, but he stumbled toward grace. He and his family now serve as missionaries in a part of the world I can’t name.
Why His Friends Wouldn’t Come to Church
As I watched him grow, I saw God develop in him a real heart for his non-Christian friends. He said many of the people he knew from the bars were genuinely spiritually curious — but when he invited them to church, they said no. They had a fixed idea of what Christians were like, formed by experience.
He’d worked as a waiter at a restaurant on the pricier end. If you’ve worked in food service, you know that higher menu prices mean bigger tips, since tipping is a percentage. So the wait staff would fight over Friday and Saturday nights — those were the money shifts.
Nobody wanted Sundays. Some of that was hangovers, honestly. But the real reason was that around eleven o’clock on Sunday morning, a wave of nicely dressed people would come in, obviously straight from church. They’d open those menus with the big expensive entrées, order generously, settle in, enjoy a wonderful meal — and then leave the smallest tips of the entire week.
He told me there were times a large party would come in, clearly several families together fresh from a service, having a marvelous time over a big meal. Three checks would go around, and some of them would leave nothing at all.
And behind the scenes, back in the kitchen, the staff would curse Christians.
Now imagine being invited to church by one of those people. Why would I want to spend time with them? My buddy at the bar was at least decent enough to buy me a beer last night. These folks won’t even leave a tip.
A few weeks ago we said generosity begets generosity. Today we’re seeing that generosity begets joy. But I want to name the other side of it: a lack of generosity begets grumbling.
Rainy Season and Dry Season
If we’re going to follow the most generous person who ever lived — if we’ve received the inexpressible, indescribable gift that radically and completely changed our lives — then we cannot treat generosity as a season. We can’t see it as disposable, something to set aside when the mood passes. It has to become who we are. It has to be the core of our identity. We can’t just switch it off.
When my wife and I lived in Venezuela, they didn’t have four seasons. They had two: rainy season and dry season. When I first heard that, I assumed rainy season meant rain every single day and dry season meant no rain at all.
I was wrong. Rainy season meant it rained four or five days a week. Dry season meant it rained one or two. Even in the dry season, there was still rain.
Some of you are in a dry season right now — and you can still rain. You can still be generous.
Generosity isn’t “I can give when I have the job, and I can’t when I don’t.” It’s “I can give this amount at this income — and when I don’t have work, maybe I give time. Maybe I’m generous with a particular skill. Maybe I volunteer somewhere. Maybe I go pour into some kids.”
It isn’t about how much you give. It’s about giving cheerfully and bountifully. It’s about the heart. Because if you’ve been changed by the gospel, it changes how you live out there.
That’s what Paul is driving at through all of this. The reason we can give expectantly and bountifully and cheerfully and willingly and truthfully is the gospel. Jesus Christ is the inexpressible gift God has given us. And because that gift doesn’t change, our generosity shouldn’t either. What it looks like may change — but we keep living it out.
And as we live it out continually, people will approve of it, be thankful for it, and give glory to God. We just might lift someone up so effectively that they go on to live generous lives themselves.
The Campaign Ends. The Season Doesn’t.
So don’t treat this as a phase — “the generosity series is done, now we move on to other things.” Instead: the series is done, but my season of generosity is not. Generosity is tied to the gospel, and because the gospel is continuous, may your generosity be continuous as well.
Father, help us to be generous, and not to treat this as a temporary display we keep up for a while and abandon when it stops feeling good or interesting or when we simply get tired. Help us to persevere — to give generously not only into a church, but to live generous lives that shape a world that desperately needs you.
I pray for anyone reading this who has never surrendered their life to you. They may know about you without ever having given themselves to you. Let them see how generously you love them — that Jesus came to this earth for them, went to a cross, and died the death they should have died so he could give them the life you always intended. Make today their spiritual birthday. Let them walk in your grace and be unleashed to live generously.
I pray for the person struggling financially who hears “give continually” while wondering how to pay the mortgage, where the next meal comes from, whether retirement will ever be possible before eighty. Provide for us in a way that brings you glory. Keep us from being too proud to accept help. Do what only you can do, and fill us with thanks and joy.
I pray for the person who feels emotionally impoverished. Bring someone into their life to walk alongside them and encourage them. Give them a friend like the one you gave me — someone whose presence leaves them thankful. Give them the courage to open up and let a few key people help carry the burden, so they can be freed of it and get back to living generously.
And for those of us who feel impoverished in our schedules — so busy we’re convinced we have no time — help us see where you’re calling us to give our time, our influence, our skills. Speak to us. Show us what you want to do in us, because I believe you want to do something great through us. Holy Spirit, accomplish what only you can. Make us generous people, for your glory, for our joy, and for the thanksgiving it creates in others. In Jesus’s name, amen.