For the better part of this past week, a respected Kenyan preacher, one of the pioneers of televised evangelism in this country and a man whose decades of ministry deserve acknowledgement, has found himself at the centre of an unusually vigorous public conversation. A short clip from his sermon travelled rapidly across social media. In it, he appeared deeply dissatisfied with the amounts some worshippers were placing in the offering, even referring to Kes. 200 in terms that many listeners understood as questioning whether such giving could possibly honour God. The internet responded as the internet invariably does. TikTok erupted. Some defended him, others ridiculed him, others wondered why a preacher should concern himself with what individual worshippers had placed in the offering basket, and still others reduced a profound theological question to jokes about whether heaven had recently revised its minimum deposit requirements. I deliberately resisted joining that chorus on the strength of a viral fragment, because “he that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him” (Proverbs 18:13). This Sunday, therefore, I listened carefully to a substantial portion of his subsequent sermon, entitled “The Sacred Covenant of Tithing”. And having listened, I became convinced that beneath the controversy over Kes. 200 lies a question infinitely greater than Kes. 200. The real issue is not whether Kes. 200 is a large offering or a small one. The question is whether the theological structure being erected around tithing, prosperity, the blessing of Abraham and the opening of heaven can withstand the full, cumulative and unrelenting testimony of Scripture.
The preacher’s argument possesses considerable rhetorical force. Abraham encountered Melchizedek, king of Salem and priest of the Most High God, and “gave him tithes of all” (Genesis 14:18-20). Hebrews identifies Jesus Christ as “a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec” (Hebrews 5:6; 6:20; 7:17). Christ is “the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever” (Hebrews 13:8); He is “Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending ... which is, and which was, and which is to come” (Revelation 1:8). From these magnificent truths the argument proceeds that just as Melchizedek received Abraham’s tithe, Christ, the eternal High Priest after the order of Melchizedek, continues to receive the believer’s tithe today. Malachi 3:10 is then brought alongside this argument: “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse”, followed by God’s promise to “open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing”. Galatians 3:13-14 is then summoned to complete the structure: Christ redeemed us from the curse so that “the blessing of Abraham might come on the Gentiles through Jesus Christ”. The resulting picture is powerful: the tithe connects the believer to the Melchizedek order, the tithe opens heaven, the curse is broken, Abraham’s blessing flows, and subsequent offerings become instruments through which corresponding measures of blessing may return. It sounds coherent. It sounds ancient. It sounds biblical. But sounding biblical and surviving the whole counsel of God are not necessarily the same thing. Scripture must be permitted to cross-examine the theology constructed from Scripture.
Abraham certainly gave Melchizedek a tenth. On that fact there can be no controversy. Genesis records it, and Hebrews confirms it. But Scripture does not tell us that Melchizedek commanded Abraham to tithe, that Abraham thereafter paid him ten per cent annually, that Isaac continued the practice, or that Genesis 14 instituted a recurring covenantal obligation binding upon every believer until the end of the age. Indeed, Hebrews tells us exactly what Abraham gave: “a tenth of the spoils” (Hebrews 7:4). Jacob later vowed at Bethel, “of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee” (Genesis 28:22). These passages establish beyond dispute that the concept of giving a tenth predates Sinai. They do not establish with equal certainty that a recurring ten-per-cent ecclesiastical obligation was thereby imposed upon the New Testament Church. That proposition requires another step, and that step must come from Scripture rather than inference.
Under Moses, however, all ambiguity disappears. The tithe becomes explicit, systematic and covenantal. “All the tithe of the land, whether of the seed of the land, or of the fruit of the tree, is the LORD’S” (Leviticus 27:30). The Levites receive the tithes because they possess no territorial inheritance among the tribes (Numbers 18:21-24). Israel is instructed concerning tithes of grain, wine, oil and the firstlings of herds and flocks (Deuteronomy 14:22-23). Provision is made for “the Levite ... the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow” (Deuteronomy 14:28-29). The Mosaic tithe therefore belongs to an integrated covenantal order involving land, agriculture, priesthood, worship, national festivals and social provision. It cannot responsibly be reduced to the proposition that ancient Israelites placed ten per cent of their monthly salaries into something corresponding exactly to a modern church offering basket. The system was larger, richer and covenantally specific.
Then Christ comes, and with Christ redemptive history turns upon its hinge. “The law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ” (John 1:17). The Word becomes flesh and dwells among us (John 1:14). The Lamb of God appears to take away the sin of the world (John 1:29). At the Last Supper He lifts the cup and declares, “This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you” (Luke 22:20). At Calvary He cries, “It is finished” (John 19:30). The veil of the Temple is torn “from the top to the bottom” (Matthew 27:51). The handwriting of ordinances that stood against us is taken away and nailed to His cross (Colossians 2:14). Something has happened which forbids us from carrying covenantal institutions across Calvary as though Golgotha were merely another date on the calendar.
Jesus Himself certainly spoke about tithing. In Matthew 23:23 He rebuked the scribes and Pharisees because they paid “tithe of mint and anise and cummin” while neglecting “the weightier matters of the law, judgement, mercy, and faith”, and He told them, “these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.” That text must be honoured. Jesus plainly recognised tithing as an obligation upon the people He addressed. But the same Jesus instructed a healed leper to “shew thyself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses commanded” (Matthew 8:4). We do not therefore require Christians today to present Mosaic offerings to Levitical priests merely because Jesus commanded someone to do so before Calvary. The question is not whether Jesus recognised the Mosaic order while living under it. The question is what becomes covenantally binding upon the Church after His blood inaugurates the New Covenant.
And here Hebrews becomes decisive. Hebrews 7 is frequently summoned to establish Christian tithing because Abraham gave a tenth to Melchizedek and Christ is Priest forever after Melchizedek’s order. But read the chapter until its argument reaches its destination. Abraham gives Melchizedek a tenth. Melchizedek blesses Abraham. “Without all contradiction the less is blessed of the better” (Hebrews 7:7). Levi, figuratively present in Abraham’s loins, may therefore be reckoned to have paid tithes through Abraham (Hebrews 7:9-10). Why does the writer labour this point? Because the Levitical priesthood could not bring perfection (Hebrews 7:11). Another Priest had to arise, “after the similitude of Melchisedec” (Hebrews 7:15), not according to fleshly descent but “after the power of an endless life” (Hebrews 7:16). Then comes the sentence that should thunder through every attempt to use Hebrews 7 merely to reconstruct an Old Covenant financial obligation: “For the priesthood being changed, there is made of necessity a change also of the law” (Hebrews 7:12). The priesthood changed, therefore the law changed, and the argument keeps moving.
Christ becomes “the surety of a better testament” (Hebrews 7:22). He possesses “an unchangeable priesthood” because He continues forever (Hebrews 7:24). He is therefore “able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him” because He “ever liveth to make intercession for them” (Hebrews 7:25). Hebrews 7 is not moving backwards towards Sinai. It is moving irresistibly towards Christ. It is not principally establishing how much money Christians must surrender. It is establishing why Christ alone can save completely. Melchizedek is not introduced merely to give the Church a percentage; he is introduced to unveil a Priesthood infinitely greater than Levi. To reach the tithe in Hebrews 7 and stop there is to enter the foothills and refuse the summit.
Then we cross Calvary and enter the apostolic Church, and the evidence becomes increasingly difficult to ignore. Acts unfolds. Churches are planted. Missionaries travel. Ministers require support. Widows require care. Poor believers in Jerusalem require relief. Collections are organised across entire regions. Paul speaks extensively about money in 1 Corinthians 9 and 16, 2 Corinthians 8-9, Philippians 4 and 1 Timothy 5. Here is the perfect opportunity for an apostle simply to announce the continuing rule: “Every Christian must give ten per cent.” Yet when Paul constructs the theology of New Testament giving, his language is strikingly different. “Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him” (1 Corinthians 16:2). “If there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to that he hath not” (2 Corinthians 8:12). “Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver” (2 Corinthians 9:7). Not grudgingly, not of necessity, according to what he has, as God has prospered him, as he purposes in his heart: those principles do not diminish giving; they transform it.
The New Testament moves generosity away from the minimum arithmetic of compulsory extraction and into the redeemed heart of a man possessed by Christ. Indeed, grace can demand considerably more than ten per cent. The Macedonians, in “a great trial of affliction” and “deep poverty”, nevertheless abounded in generosity (2 Corinthians 8:2). They gave “to their power” and “beyond their power” (2 Corinthians 8:3). But Paul reveals the secret: they “first gave their own selves to the Lord” (2 Corinthians 8:5). There is the economy of the New Covenant. Before God addresses the percentage, He possesses the person. And once that truth is grasped, ten per cent almost becomes too small a category for Christian discipleship. “Ye are not your own. For ye are bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). If I am not my own, my possessions cannot finally be my own. My house, salary, investments, abilities, time, strength, opportunities and future belong beneath the lordship of Christ. The Christian question therefore rises beyond, “Have I surrendered God’s ten per cent?” to the infinitely more searching question, “Lord, how would You have me steward the hundred per cent that is Yours?” Grace has not lowered the claims of God. Grace has swallowed the entire man.
By this stage of the sermon, however, the preacher had come out swinging. The criticism of the preceding days had plainly not intimidated him. He referred to some of those challenging his teaching as “boys” and “idle”, and invoked the authority of experience: he had been doing this thing, he reminded his hearers, for fifty years. Then came perhaps the most visually arresting moment of the sermon. Standing before his raised altar and leaning upon it, he began discussing Galatians 3 with extraordinary physical emphasis. He pounded the altar repeatedly as he spoke, presenting tithing as the bedrock, while with the other hand he pointed back and forth towards the congregation, urging them to connect to it. The gestures were emphatic, the voice assured, the posture commanding, the accumulated confidence of half a century of ministry almost palpable. One could scarcely have asked for a more dramatic visual representation of conviction. Yet this was precisely the point at which conviction had to yield to exegesis. Fifty years can establish longevity; they cannot establish the meaning of a text. An altar may be pounded until the room trembles; the force of the hand cannot alter the force of the verse. A congregation may be urged repeatedly to connect to the tithe, but the question before us is whether Galatians 3 tells the believer to connect to the tithe at all. And when the animation subsides, the hand is lifted from the altar, the pointing finger becomes still and Paul is permitted to complete his own argument, the apostle locates the decisive connection somewhere else entirely: not in the believer’s tithe, but in Christ; not in a financial transaction, but in faith.
And this is where the argument reaches its most consequential point, because Galatians 3 speaks with a clarity that should settle the matter. Paul tells us exactly how Abraham’s blessing reaches the Gentiles. “Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness” (Galatians 3:6). “They which are of faith, the same are the children of Abraham” (Galatians 3:7). “They which be of faith are blessed with faithful Abraham” (Galatians 3:9). Then Paul introduces the curse: “Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them” (Galatians 3:10). The question therefore becomes unavoidable: what breaks that curse? Paul answers with words whose force no pounding of an altar can increase and no financial mechanism can supplement: “Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13). Not the tithe, but Christ. And why did Christ become a curse? “That the blessing of Abraham might come on the Gentiles through Jesus Christ.” Through whom? Jesus Christ. And how is the promise received? “That we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith” (Galatians 3:14). Through what? Faith.
At this point the argument acquires an almost judicial finality. Scripture has identified the curse, identified the One who bore it, identified the blessing, identified the One through whom it comes and identified the means by which it is received. The curse is borne by Christ. The blessing comes through Christ. The promise is received through faith. To insert tithing into that sequence as the mechanism that breaks the curse or activates Abraham’s blessing is not merely to emphasise giving strongly. It is to place something into Paul’s argument that Paul himself did not place there. Giving may flow magnificently from the blessing. Giving may demonstrate gratitude for the blessing. Giving may reveal that Mammon has lost its grip upon the heart. Giving may finance the proclamation of the Gospel through which others hear of the blessing. But giving cannot become the price, switch or key by which the blessing purchased by Christ is activated without confusing fruit with root, response with cause, and our obedience with His finished work.
And here an additional precision is necessary, because “the blessing of Abraham” itself must not be quietly reduced to financial prosperity. Galatians 3 is concerned fundamentally with justification by faith, the promise, the inclusion of the Gentiles in Abraham’s family and, explicitly in verse 14, “the promise of the Spirit through faith”. Paul is not constructing a formula by which Christians may reproduce Abraham’s material possessions. He is announcing the astonishing fulfilment of God’s ancient promise that in Abraham all nations would be blessed (Galatians 3:8; Genesis 12:3), a promise reaching its fulfilment in Christ. To turn “the blessing of Abraham” principally into houses, cars, bank balances and material multiplication is therefore already to narrow Paul’s horizon before the tithe has even entered the discussion. The riches of the Gospel are immeasurably greater than that.
Paul then supplies the theological bedrock of Christian generosity in language so magnificent that it should end every attempt to make Christian giving fundamentally transactional: “For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). There is the foundation. Before I ever gave anything to God, God gave Himself to me. Before my hand reached towards an offering basket, the hands of Christ were stretched upon a cross. Before I sacrificed anything, “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son” (John 3:16). Before I surrendered anything of consequence, Christ “made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant” and “humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross” (Philippians 2:7-8). Christian generosity therefore does not begin with ten per cent ascending from earth towards heaven. It begins with heaven’s unspeakable Gift descending to earth. Neither should Paul’s statement that through Christ’s poverty we become rich be flattened into another prosperity formula. Its immediate context is grace producing generosity. Paul is directing the Corinthians towards the self-giving Christ, not handing them a technique for acquiring wealth. That is why his great exposition of Christian giving finally erupts, not into applause for prosperous donors, but into worship of the ultimate Giver: “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift” (2 Corinthians 9:15).
This is why the language of “opening heaven” must be handled with profound theological care. Malachi 3:10 is Scripture and must never be explained away. Israel had robbed God “in tithes and offerings” (Malachi 3:8), and God called His covenant people back to obedience with the promise that He would “open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing”. But when we enter the New Covenant, the imagery explodes beyond an agricultural window. At Christ’s baptism “the heavens were opened” (Matthew 3:16). At Calvary the veil was torn from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51). Hebrews announces that we now have “boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus” (Hebrews 10:19), through “a new and living way” opened through His flesh (Hebrews 10:20). We are commanded to “come boldly unto the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:16). We have been blessed “with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ” (Ephesians 1:3). We have been raised together and made to “sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:6). The New Testament believer is therefore not standing outside a financially padlocked heaven shaking the gates with his tithe. He stands in Christ. His access is through Christ. His confidence is through Christ. His acceptance is in Christ. The veil was not torn ten per cent from the top. It was torn in two.
And neither should prosperity be detached from this Christ-centred architecture and converted into a predictable financial return upon religious payments. Scripture certainly teaches divine provision. “My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19). Christ tells us that our heavenly Father knows we need food, drink and clothing and commands us to seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness (Matthew 6:31-33). Paul says God “giveth us richly all things to enjoy” (1 Timothy 6:17). Scripture even speaks of sowing and reaping in connection with generosity: “He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully” (2 Corinthians 9:6). But Paul immediately explains the purpose of God’s abundance: God is able to make grace abound so that believers, “having all sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good work” (2 Corinthians 9:8), being “enriched in every thing to all bountifulness” (2 Corinthians 9:11). Even the reaping leads back into generosity. The river is supplied so that it may keep flowing, not so that the recipient may dam it around himself.
The same Paul knew how “to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need” (Philippians 4:12). The apostles could describe themselves as “poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things” (2 Corinthians 6:10). Hebrews celebrates believers who “took joyfully the spoiling of your goods”, knowing that they possessed “in heaven a better and an enduring substance” (Hebrews 10:34). Our Lord Himself warned, “a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth” (Luke 12:15). Any doctrine of prosperity that cannot accommodate Paul hungry, the apostles poor, faithful believers joyfully losing property and the Son of Man having nowhere to lay His head is not large enough to contain the New Testament.
Then there remains that stubborn Kes. 200. Jesus once sat “over against the treasury” and watched people giving (Mark 12:41). Many rich people put in much. Then came a poor widow carrying two mites. Numerically, her offering was almost invisible. Had somebody been evaluating the basket by amount alone, she might have appeared almost insulting. But the One observing that treasury was He before whom “all things are naked and opened” (Hebrews 4:13), the One who does not see as man sees because “man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). Jesus called His disciples and declared that the widow had given “more than all they which have cast into the treasury” (Mark 12:43). Heaven had counted differently. “For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had” (Mark 12:44).
That passage should make every preacher and every Christian extraordinarily slow to despise an amount placed in an offering basket. Kes. 200 tells us almost nothing by itself. In one person’s hand it may be loose change. In another’s it may represent lunch. In another’s it may be the fare home. In another household it may be the last available money before payday. Kes. 20,000 may represent extraordinary sacrifice from one believer and scarcely register in the abundance of another. Heaven therefore does not merely count what leaves the hand. Heaven sees what remains behind. Paul states the principle with crystalline precision: “If there be first a willing mind, it is accepted according to that a man hath, and not according to that he hath not” (2 Corinthians 8:12). David refused to offer to God that which cost him nothing (2 Samuel 24:24), while Christ drew attention to a widow whose tiny gift cost her almost everything. The arithmetic of heaven therefore cannot be conducted merely by looking into the basket.
Yet none of this provides refuge for stinginess. The Christian who quotes “not of necessity” merely to justify financing every appetite lavishly and giving God whatever remains has understood neither Paul nor grace. Christ said, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:21). He warned that no man can serve both God and mammon (Matthew 6:24). Paul commanded the wealthy not to trust “in uncertain riches” but in the living God and to become “rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate” (1 Timothy 6:17-18). John asks how the love of God can dwell in someone who possesses this world’s goods, sees his brother in need and closes his compassion against him (1 John 3:17). James thunders against riches accumulated through injustice (James 5:1-6). Grace does not sanctify greed. Grace crucifies it.
So preach giving, and preach it strongly. Preach against greed and covetousness; preach sacrificial generosity, faithful stewardship, support for those who labour in the Gospel, care for the poor and the solemn truth that everything entrusted to us ultimately belongs to God. Preach until wealthy Christians cease measuring generosity merely by what they can comfortably spare; preach until churches become rivers of mercy flowing into their communities; preach until believers understand the words of the Lord Jesus, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35). Let faithful ministers be supported, because “the labourer is worthy of his reward” (1 Timothy 5:18), and “the Lord ordained that they which preach the gospel should live of the gospel” (1 Corinthians 9:14). Let missionaries be sent. Let widows be remembered. Let orphans be cared for. Let hungry people eat. Let believers who find ten per cent a useful discipline practise it joyfully. Let others give twenty, thirty or fifty per cent if God has prospered them and their hearts are willing. Zacchaeus, encountering Christ, volunteered half his goods to the poor (Luke 19:8). The Jerusalem believers sometimes sold lands and houses and laid the proceeds at the apostles’ feet so that distribution could be made according to need (Acts 4:34-35). Grace is capable of producing a generosity beside which ten per cent can look remarkably modest.
But having preached all these things, do not place upon the neck of Christ’s redeemed people a financial key and tell them that without turning it heaven remains locked. Do not make the tithe accomplish what Scripture says the blood accomplished. Do not make an offering activate what Scripture says faith receives. Do not make Kes. 200 the measure of a heart that only God can see. Do not move the believer’s confidence from the pierced hands of Christ into his own giving hand. For the New Testament does not locate our acceptance, inheritance, redemption or access to God in the amount surrendered from our pockets, but in the immeasurable sufficiency of the Son whom the Father surrendered for us.
The issue ultimately becomes unavoidable because at every decisive junction Scripture sends us back to Christ. If I say that my tithe broke the curse, Galatians answers that “Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13). If I say that my tithe secured Abraham’s blessing, Galatians answers that “they which be of faith are blessed with faithful Abraham” (Galatians 3:9). If I say that my offering obtained access to God, Hebrews answers that we enter “by the blood of Jesus” (Hebrews 10:19). If I say that my giving made me rich, Paul points away from my wallet towards Christ, “that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). If I say that my financial obedience made me an heir, Paul answers that “if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17). If I ask how I became Abraham’s seed, Scripture does not direct me towards an offering basket but towards union with Christ: “If ye be Christ’s, then are ye Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:29). At every turn, at every junction, under every cross-examination, Scripture redirects the believer from his transaction towards Christ’s accomplishment.
And there lies perhaps the holy usefulness hidden within this week’s controversy. The Kenyan Church does not need less generosity. It needs generosity resting upon stronger theology. It does not need poorer churches, neglected ministers, abandoned missions or believers clutching their wallets while quoting grace. It needs men and women so overwhelmed by what God has given them in Christ that generosity ceases to require manipulation. When Zacchaeus encountered Christ, nobody handed him a calculator; grace entered his house and half his possessions suddenly became expendable (Luke 19:8). When the Macedonians grasped grace, their “deep poverty” somehow “abounded unto the riches of their liberality” (2 Corinthians 8:2). When the earliest believers were moved by the Spirit, possessions lost their tyranny and needs within the fellowship were met (Acts 4:32-35). The deepest New Testament answer to stinginess is therefore not merely a louder demand for ten per cent. It is a larger revelation of Christ, because when Christ captures the heart, He eventually reaches the wallet.
This is also why honouring a preacher must never mean surrendering our responsibility to examine preaching. Those who have laboured faithfully for decades deserve respect. Pioneers of Christian broadcasting deserve acknowledgement. A lifetime of ministry should not be caricatured through one viral fragment. But neither fifty years, fame, ecclesiastical office nor public affection can place any sermon beyond Scripture’s examination. The Bereans received even apostolic teaching “with all readiness of mind” and nevertheless “searched the scriptures daily, whether those things were so” (Acts 17:11). Scripture calls them noble for doing so. The pulpit is not dishonoured when the Bible is opened beneath it. The pulpit is safest when the Bible towers above it. The preacher is not diminished when Scripture judges his sermon, because preacher and hearer alike stand beneath the same Word. Fifty years may command our respect, but only the Word of God can command our conscience.
For when every argument has exhausted itself, when every TikTok video has disappeared down the algorithm, when Kes. 200 has ceased trending, when every offering basket has been emptied and counted, when every sermon has ended, when every church building has fallen silent, and when preacher, giver and critic eventually stand before the same Lord, one truth will remain immovable: the Christian’s hope was never the percentage he gave. The blessing is in Christ, the inheritance is in Christ, redemption is in Christ through His blood (Ephesians 1:7), righteousness is found in Christ rather than in ourselves (Philippians 3:9), access to the Father is through Christ by one Spirit (Ephesians 2:18), the promises of God are “yea, and in him Amen” (2 Corinthians 1:20), and the exceeding riches of God’s grace are shown towards us “through Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:7). Paul therefore brings the matter to a conclusion of almost terrifying simplicity: “If ye be Christ’s, then are ye Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:29). Notice the condition. Not, “If ye tithe.” Not, “If ye have given enough.” Not, “If the amount in the basket demonstrates sufficient honour.” The apostolic condition is: “If ye be Christ’s.” That distinction is not theological hair-splitting. It is the architecture of the Gospel.
Before the Christian ever gave anything to God, God had already given what the Christian could never purchase. “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son” (John 3:16). “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son” (1 John 4:10). Christian theology therefore begins not with man’s gift ascending towards God but with God’s Gift descending towards man. Paul takes the argument to its staggering summit when he asks, “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” (Romans 8:32). The Gospel does not begin with a worshipper approaching heaven carrying ten per cent and pleading for the windows to open. It begins with God opening heaven, sending His Son, giving Him for sinners, laying upon Him the curse of the law, raising Him triumphantly from the dead, seating Him at His right hand and inviting bankrupt sinners to receive through faith what they could never purchase through works. Our giving comes afterwards. It is response, not ransom; fruit, not root; worship, not purchase; gratitude, not currency.
And therefore, when I have given my tithe, my offering, my possessions, my service and eventually my very life, I must still confess that none of these opened heaven for me. Another gave first. Another gave infinitely more. The Father gave the Son; the Son gave Himself. Christ became poor that through His poverty we might be rich (2 Corinthians 8:9). Christ became a curse that the blessing of Abraham might come upon the Gentiles through Him (Galatians 3:13-14). Christ shed His blood that we might enter the Holiest with boldness (Hebrews 10:19). Christ was delivered for our offences and raised again for our justification (Romans 4:25). Christ lives forever to make intercession for us (Hebrews 7:25). Christ has become for us “wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption” (1 Corinthians 1:30). There is the bedrock beneath the believer’s feet, the answer to the curse, the source of the blessing, the ground of our confidence, our access to the Father, our inheritance with Abraham and the inexhaustible fountain from which genuine Christian generosity must forever flow.
The Gospel, then, is not the story of man giving enough to persuade God to open heaven. It is the astonishing story of God opening heaven, giving His Son and transforming those who receive Him into givers. We do not give so that Christ may become gracious to us; we give because in Christ God has already been immeasurably gracious. We do not give to purchase Abraham’s blessing; we give because through faith in Christ we have been blessed with faithful Abraham. We do not give to become heirs; we give because if we are Christ’s, then we are Abraham’s seed and heirs according to the promise. We do not give to tear the veil; the veil was torn from top to bottom. We do not give to purchase access; a new and living way has already been opened through the flesh of Christ (Hebrews 10:20). We do not give to persuade heaven to give us Christ, because heaven has already given Him.
So give, and give cheerfully, sacrificially and abundantly. Give until greed loosens its fingers and Mammon loses its throne. Give because the hungry must eat, because the Gospel must be preached, because faithful labourers deserve support, because widows and orphans must be remembered, because suffering saints must be relieved, because everything we possess came ultimately from God and because “freely ye have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8). But after the tithe has been calculated, after the offering has been counted, after the preacher has spoken, after the congregation has dispersed and after every argument has finally fallen silent, do not stand over the basket and say, “This opened heaven.” Lift your eyes instead towards Golgotha, where the Son of God hangs between heaven and earth, where the curse is exhausted upon the sinless One, where redemption is purchased with blood, where the veil is about to tear, where grace is about to burst its banks, and where the dying Redeemer gathers the entire accomplishment of salvation into three words that no tithe, no offering, no human work and no religious transaction can ever improve upon: “It is finished” (John 19:30).
There is the bedrock. There is the blessing. There is the open heaven. There is the answer to the curse. There is the inheritance of Abraham. There is the inexhaustible treasury from which every truly Christian act of giving must proceed. And there, at last, is the decisive difference between a religion in which man gives in order to unlock God and the Gospel in which man gives because God has already given him Christ. The altar may be pounded, the offering may be counted, the percentage may be calculated and fifty years of ministry may be invoked, but when all of them have spoken, Scripture must have the last word. And Scripture’s last word on Christian giving is not the magnificence of what man has placed before God, but the incomprehensible magnificence of what God has already placed before man: “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift” (2 Corinthians 9:15).