A Story of How Giving Lost Its Way
A Story of How Giving Lost Its Way
Barley swayed in the wind like golden rivers, and shepherds counted sheep beneath the endless desert sky. The air was thick with the scent of earth and promise. The quiet confidence that the same God who sent rain would send harvest.
When the first sheaf was cut or the first lamb born, the people of Israel brought a tenth to the Lord. Not out of guilt, but out of gratitude They came barefoot and sun-warmed, their arms full of what their hands had grown, hearts full of thanks.
The tithe was more than a portion; it was a proclamation: “You are the Source of every good thing.” In those early days, the tithe wasn’t a tax. It was a thank you. A simple living act of worship. No pressure, no counting, no compulsion. Each offering was a story of provision, a confession of trust.
They didn’t measure by coins or calculate by rule. Their giving smelled like olive oil and grain. The scent of ordinary life returned to an extraordinary God. Even the soil bore witness, remembering the weight of gifts laid down at the altar.
Giving was simple then.
The hands that worked the earth also lifted it back to heaven. It was a rhythm of love. The Heavenly Creator providing, and His people responding
A dance of grace in a world that still knew how to say thank You.
Long before Moses wrote the Law, one man’s gratitude became history’s first tithe.
In the Beginning — Gratitude in the Fields
Long before Moses wrote the Law, Abraham tithed to Melchizedek, the Priest-King of Salem, after rescuing his nephew from war. He gave freely from the spoils, long before anyone required it.
Then came Jacob, promising, “Of all that You give me, I will surely give a tenth to You.”
The tithe was woven into the rhythm of faith. Away went the spontaneous, relational, a tangible sign of trust.
When Moses later gave the Law, God formalized the practice for Israel. Each household set aside a tenth of crops and livestock. Not in cash, but in produce. That food fed the Levites (who had no inheritance of land), supplied the temple, and cared for widows, orphans, and foreigners.
It was a system built on gratitude, not greed. Every offering reminded Israel that provision came from the hand of God, not the strength of man. The land itself was sacred, and sharing its yield was an act of worship that bound the community together.
Giving wasn’t about losing something. It was about keeping the flow of blessing moving, from God to His people and through His people to others. In this way, generosity became a language of faith. A living reminder that the Provider never forgets His promise.
It wasn’t a revenue system. It was a community safety net, divinely designed to make sure no one went hungry.
Gratitude faded into routine, and what was once worship began to feel like work.
The Temple Era — When Gratitude Became Obligation
Centuries passed and the small tabernacle became a grand temple in Jerusalem. Priests replaced shepherds, rituals replaced relationships, and tithing became a duty instead of delight.
What once smelled of grain and oil began to smell like money. People no longer brought their best. They brought what was convenient. By the time of Malachi, God asked,
“Will a man rob God? Yet you have robbed Me… in tithes and offerings.”
But the theft wasn’t just about withheld crops. It was about withheld hearts. The storehouse was empty because worship had become mechanical. The tithe had turned from a symbol of love to a symbol of law.
The temple still stood tall, but the people’s devotion had grown small. Offerings became nothing more than transactions, and reverence turned into routine. What had once been a feast of joy became a formula of religion. It was polished, predictable, and hollow.
The priests performed their duties, the people met their obligations, and yet heaven grew quiet. The sound of clinking coins replaced the songs of gratitude, and God’s presence. What was once the center of their giving, became an afterthought.
They remembered the motions but forgot the meaning.
The law had shaped their hands to give, but only grace could teach their hearts to love again.
The New Covenant — A Shift Toward the Heart
Jesus came and He praised the widow who gave just two coins. It was less than a tithe, but worth everything she had. He rebuked the Pharisees for tithing herbs while neglecting justice and mercy.
He overturned the tables of merchants who had turned worship into commerce.
In His Kingdom, giving was never measured in percentages but in presence.
He gave His life, not a tenth of it. He invited His followers to do the same, to give not from surplus, but from surrender.
With every parable and miracle, Jesus redefined what generosity looked like. It wasn’t about what was placed in the offering box but about what was released in the heart. Love became the new currency of heaven. The measure of true wealth in God’s economy.
The early believers followed that model. The book of Acts tells us they “had all things in common.” They sold property and shared the proceeds so “no one among them had need.” Their generosity was spontaneous and Spirit-led. It was not a rule, but a rhythm of love.
They didn’t give to earn favor; they gave because they already had it.
What began in living rooms and open fields would soon echo in marble halls under imperial rule.
The Roman Shift — When Church Became State
Just three centuries later and everything changed again. After Emperor Constantine legalized Christianity in 313 AD, the faith moved from homes to cathedrals. Ministry became professionalized; clergy needed salaries, buildings needed maintenance, and empires needed order.
By the 6th century, the church began to require tithes by law. In medieval Europe, peasants paid a tenth of their harvest. Not just to the church, but often to feudal lords who controlled it. The tithe that once fed the poor now fed the institution.
Those who refused could be punished, even excommunicated. Giving was no longer worship. It was taxation in holy wrapping. Greed would quickly grow and competition among the church would become a new normal. Instead of taking care of the most vulnerable the church grew in stature failing to nurture and became a system of oppression.
The heart had been replaced by hierarchy.
Centuries later, the system that once claimed to serve God had grown so heavy with power that it was ready to be challenged.
The Reformation — Questioning the System
When the Reformers rose in the 1500s, they challenged indulgences and corruption, but the tithe system largely stayed.
As printing presses roared to life and Scripture was finally translated into the languages of the people, the Church faced its greatest transformation since the book of Acts. Martin Luther nailed his theses to the church door, John Calvin preached grace over works, and believers across Europe began to discover that salvation could not be bought or earned.
They tore down many man-made barriers between God and His people. Yet, one wall still stood quietly in the background: the economic one.
Even after the Bible became accessible to all, most believers never questioned why they were still paying tithes when there was no temple, no Levitical priesthood, and no Mosaic law binding them. Clergy still needed salaries, buildings still required upkeep, and religious institutions still relied on the same financial structures that had sustained them for centuries.
The flow of money simply changed direction. From Rome to the Reformers’ state churches the framework remained intact. The system had become so normal, so interwoven with religious life, that few remembered how it started.
Grace had freed their theology, but law still managed their giving.
The Church had rediscovered grace for the soul but left tradition in charge of the treasury.
The Modern Church — Money Over Mercy
Fast forward to today. Church budgets now resemble corporate ledgers. The majority of giving covers salaries, property, and programs. Some pastors are sincere, faithful shepherds; others have been seduced by performance culture.
Either way, the same pattern repeats:
People gave out of duty, not joy. Churches spend on infrastructure, not people. The poor, the ones the tithe was meant to protect, are often the last to benefit. Frank Viola calls this “a baptized business model.” in his book Pagan Christianity. A must read for anyone who has read scripture and looks at the church and says to themselves.... HUMMM...
A machine built to sustain itself, even if it forgets its mission.
What once began as worship has quietly become management. Metrics have replaced miracles; attendance has replaced affection. We build bigger stages, not stronger communities. We mistake production for presence. And somewhere between the spreadsheets and the spotlight, the church began to measure success by what it collects instead of what it gives away.
Many believers feel the tension but don’t know how to change it. They sense the hollowness in polished services that never touch the broken.
Deep down, the Spirit still whispers that the Church was never meant to be a brand, but a body.
Until we remember that, we’ll keep trading mercy for marketing — and calling it ministry.
The Church has learned how to grow crowds; now Heaven is asking her to regrow compassion.
A Return to the Original Pattern
But history doesn’t have to end here. The same God who called Abraham to generosity still whispers to us today. Can you hear Him?
“Give, and it will be given to you.” — Luke 6:38
The same Spirit who moved the early church to share still moves today. Through quiet givers, unseen helpers, those who slip groceries on porches or pay electric bills without applause. Through every act of kindness that asks for nothing in return, the rhythm of heaven still beats.
This is where the story begins again. The altar is no longer made of stone; it’s built in everyday obedience: in kitchens, in coffee shops, in quiet decisions to love without being noticed. The true tithe has never been about percentages; it’s always been about participation. Joining God in the work of restoring what selfishness has broken.
That’s real tithing, not funding the system, but fueling compassion. It’s giving because we remember what grace once gave to us. And when generosity flows freely again, the Church starts to look less like a business and more like a family, less like an institution and more like an incarnation of love.
And maybe that’s what God has been restoring all along — not the system of tithing, but the spirit of giving.
A Hope Scribed Reflection
Maybe the true “storehouse” Malachi spoke of isn’t a church bank account.
Maybe it’s the hearts of believers filled with faith, open hands, and holy imagination.
The storehouse has never been made of walls and ledgers. No, it’s made of people. Every act of compassion becomes a deposit, every kindness a currency of heaven. When we give with love, we’re not funding a system; we’re fueling a story that began long before us and will continue long after.
When we give that way, the ancient story begins again, not in temples or cathedrals, but in kitchens, driveways, and grocery store parking lots,
where generosity still looks like grace, and heaven still meets earth in ordinary places.
That’s where revival quietly begins. Surrendered hearts not on stages, but deep inside the parts of man only God can see. Because the greatest offering we’ll ever give is the one that costs us comfort but gives someone else hope.
And when the people of God return to giving like that, the world won’t just see a church that collects. It will see a body that cares.
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