Flying Dollars

“I’ve heard some grumbling lately,” Deacon Barnes said.

“Grumbling? You mean gossip?” I asked.

“It may not have reached that general level,” the deacon said, “but it’s certainly among the major donors.”

I sat up straighter. This would never do. Deacon Barnes, along with the eleven other deacons and me, were in our weekly Board meeting. As pastor of the church I was responsible for shepherding the flock and keeping them from the rocky cliffs. If people were unhappy for some reason, particularly those whose contributions kept the church from tumbling over the financial edge, I needed to deal with the issue. “Any idea why there’s unrest?”

Deacon Stout cleared his throat. “It’s been whispered to me that your sermons are disturbing some people.”

“Oh my.” I was a younger pastor who had come into this older, well-established church determined to theologically shake things up. In my zeal I hadn’t considered the ramifications. In our meeting we had just reviewed the church budget. Our finances weren’t good.

Membership had been dropping with expenses skyrocketing. Several years before I came to the pastorate the Board had approved an adjustable rate mortgage. It had adjusted dramatically upward. Because of that and unexpected major repairs to our building we were in trouble.

My preaching had shaken things. No doubt. It made people uncomfortable. I saw that, but figured God would change their hearts. Instead, many were leaving, and those left were threatening to withhold money…