I was studying the early church once and suddenly had an idea.  Barnabas and several others were selling property and giving it to the apostles to distribute to the Christians in need.  I decided to put that in terms I could understand, with the help of a professional realtor in my area. 

Some of those early Christians had houses and sold them.  Let’s be logical about this:  they did not sell the houses they were living in because that would have just exacerbated the problem—more homeless folks to worry about.  But let’s say they had another house in Jerusalem that they used as a rental property.  Today, where I live, any house that is livable will not go for much less than $100,000, and if it is any size at all, $150,000 or more.

Others, particularly Barnabas, sold property.  Let’s say I have a piece of property that I bought as an investment several years ago.  Five acres will cost you about $75,000 in a rural county, but closer to $175,000 in an urban county.  In town, zoned commercial, it will get you well over a million and a half.  Even a rural property will bring in $350,000 if it also has a livable house and is improved—well, septic, etc.  We are not talking about these first century Christians making paltry donations; we are not even talking about what we would consider a generous donation.  Their giving went far beyond anything I had ever considered before.

Lest some good soul feels convicted and goes out to sell his extra property by Sunday morning, let us hasten to say that this was a time of crisis.  Several thousand Christians were homeless and unemployed.  They had come for the Jewish feast days, fully expecting to go back home to their trades and dwellings.  But in becoming part of the first church, God’s promised kingdom, they had much to learn.  It would have been inappropriate for someone to say, “Why should I sacrifice my future for them?  Let them go back home to their own jobs and houses.”  God did not want them leaving until they had achieved a solid foundation, something that happened several years later in Acts 8 when they were scattered abroad…preaching the word.

But I wonder about us, about me, if some crisis should happen to my brethren.  What if a hurricane, a tornado, an earthquake, or whatever tragedy is prone to your area, suddenly takes the homes of half the Christians in your city?  How much of a sacrifice would you be willing to make?  How much would I?

Another crisis fell on the Judean Christians several years later—a famine.  Do we really understand this?  They had no Publix or Kroger sitting on the street corner that continued to bring in food despite the failure of their own little gardens.  People were starving.  The Macedonian churches had just been through some affliction that left them poverty-stricken themselves, 2 Cor 8:1-3.  Yet they did not say, as some might, “Why should we give?  Someone needs to take up a collection for us!”  They gave anyway.  In fact, they begged Paul to allow them to give, because those faraway people, whom they had probably never met in their lives, were family to them, brothers and sisters in the Lord.  Their secret?  They gave themselves to God first.  After that, nothing was too much to ask.

What would those early Christians think of us and our giving?  Or our excuses for not giving?  Yes, we are to be good stewards of our money, but that certainly gets us out of a lot of situations, doesn’t it?  I praise God that I do know a few twenty-first century Christians who are financially blessed, but who live modestly just so they can find situations they can help with monetarily.  It encourages me to do more as well.

Consider these things as you go about your lives today, and especially in the next few weeks.  What are you spending your money on?  When poverty-stricken Christians can give out of their own need, what can I do out of the gracious plenty I have?

Moreover brethren, we make known to you the grace of God which has been given in the churches of Macedonia, how that in much proof of affliction, the abundance of their joy and their deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality.  For according to their power… yea and beyond their power, they gave of their own accord, begging us with much entreaty in regard of this grace and the fellowship in the ministering to the saints…but first they gave their own selves to the Lord…2 Cor 8:1-5.

Dene Ward

I hate to hear of a policeman gone bad.  He gives all the good ones a bad name.  As the wife of a law enforcement officer, I shouldn’t have to defend my husband’s career choice just because someone who isn’t what he should have been has shamed the badge, but the reality is, I do.

Policemen aren’t the only ones who have this problem. 

God spent an entire chapter on the priests of Israel who shirked their duties (Ezek 34).  Many good priests still quietly went about fulfilling their obligations, like Zaccharias, honored to serve in the house of the Lord, but by the time of Christ, too many were political animals, caring only for their own power and wealth, like Annas and Caiaphas.

The Jews in the Old Testament while still acting “as the people” Ezek 33:30-32, behaved in a manner unsuitable to God’s children.  They forgot who their Father was and shamed Him with their immorality, lack of compassion, and idolatry.  Yes, a remnant remained, but they too suffered because the majority represented the whole, and the world laughed Jehovah to scorn when He allowed them to be punished.  Yet He did allow it, because the representation of Jehovah’s children was shameful.

In the New Testament, their descendants gave the people another bad name—“Pharisees,” which though merely a sect concerned with carefully keeping the Law, eventually came to mean “self-righteous hypocrite.”  It is easy to believe in a quick read that no righteous Pharisees existed, yet among them were Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea, and Saul of Tarsus.  In spite of them, the general impression the majority left had Jesus regularly condemning them. 

Things have not changed.  Just as a corrupt cop can give all policemen a bad name, bad churches can give all other churches a bad name.  How many times have I had to defend the group I worship with because some other group far away lacked compassion, failed in its duty to teach the whole gospel instead of just its own pet slogans, or refused to welcome the troubled, the disabled, and the sinner?  More than I want to count.

But more to the point this morning, have I given God’s people a bad name?  What do my friends, neighbors and co-workers think about my brethren, not by what they have seen of them in person, but by what they have seen of me?  Do I, in fact, complain about them all the time?  Do I gossip?  Am I constantly angry and unhappy instead of cheerful and pleasant to be around?  Do I assist whenever I can, whoever I can, or do I have biases that anyone who knows me can list without a second’s thought?  Am I reliable, trustworthy, and honest to a fault?  How is my language and my dress?  We are foolish to think no one notices these things, and we bring shame on our Creator when they do.

The church is one big House of Representatives.  When the world looks at us, it sees the Lord.  Would He be happy with the picture you are painting of Him today?

For as touching those who were once enlightened and tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Spirit, and tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the age to come, and then fell away, it is impossible to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame, Hebrews 6:4-6.              

Dene Ward