We receive money messages early on; primarily from our parents. My own parents were working class folk who played by the rules and never got ahead but who lived honorable and decent lives. As part of the Great Depression generation, my folks didn't believe in debt and didn't own a credit card. My dad would say "You don't spend the money you hope to earn tomorrow, today!" If my dad wanted something (a new sofa for the living room), he simply saved until he had the money and then paid cash. I'd argue, as a teenager, with him: "What if, by the time you save the money, the couch is no longer there?" His reply was infuriating to my fourteen year old ears: "Then maybe I wasn't meant to have it" or "There'll be other couches." When they moved to California from Baltimore to be closer to their only grandchild, my dad apologized to the mortgage banker at the closing on their modest condo in Pasadena: "We may not live long enough to pay off this note."

My family did not start saving for a rainy day until later in life (age 50). There just wasn't enough coming in to make that possible. And there certainly was no concept of investing. My dad surely saw that as reckless and dangerous. He did occasionally buy lottery tickets; I don't think he ever won anything.

In looking back over their "economic lives," what I have discovered is that my mom and dad were very different. My mom loved trendy thing, "modern things," the latest things. When "pole lamps" came out (remember those?), she couldn't wait to have one and it was my job to paste the S&H Green Stamps in the little booklets to redeem one. (Boomers: explain saving stamps to your children and grandchildren; they'll never believe it.) But my dad always wanted the "best" − hence the white envelope marked "new couch" in his desk drawer. He really believed that "you get what you pay for" and "haste (as in hasty purchases) makes waste (as in discarded junk). Mom was certainly allowed her frivolous purchases (the electric-orange "carousel dish centerpiece" comes to mind) but dad firmly controlled major purchases.

Characteristically for their generation, my folks kept secrets about money. I suspect that had something to do with aspirations to the middle class for those who spent too many years in poverty. And it surely had something to do with the reality that Black women tended to earn more and have more stable employment than Black men. Race and money and self worth were all mixed in together for my folks' generation − a concept alien to their grandson. So I certainly never knew how much my folks earned individually (my mom did, I found out after my dad had died and I took over mom's care, earn more than my dad did) or as a couple. You didn't talk about family business outside the home. You did not do so, inside the home, in front of the children.

So I don't have money messages about giving to church from them. My parents were very active members of St. James', Lafayette Square. They put an envelope in the collection plate on Sundays but I have no idea what was in it. I'm curious about that. I wonder sometimes if they were typical for many of their generation who began putting "a dollar a week" in church during the Depression and kept that discipline − unexamined − for the rest of their lives. I simply don't have any hard evidence. But I do have a story.

My dad was a stewardship canvasser one year. I recall him going out to make home calls on fellow members with his list of donors, how much they had given last year and a pledge card for the New Year upcoming. I was quite young but I remember to this day my dad coming home after a call on a neighbor down the block. Dad was angrier than the time I had used his best screwdriver as a chisel (pretty scary). He was using language he simply did not use (in front of me at least) and reaching for a bottle of scotch. When he had had a drink and calmed down, I was able to overhear the story he told my mom. Our neighbor, who had a brand new Cadillac and who, when my dad visited his home, was watching a new color television (nobody else had color then); had told my dad that he needed to reduce his pledge to the church from $2.00 a week to $1.00 because "times were hard." I had heard the expression "spitting fire" but I had never seen it and never wanted to again. My dad never went canvassing again. He said that it broke his heart.

The "stewardship message" I got from that incident − indirect and incandescent − was that God comes first; God's Church comes first.

And the second message would be my parent's whole philosophy of economic life: you get what you pay for and strive for the best, without denying yourself simple and even frivolous pleasures from time to time.

Our salary is $80,160 and my wife and I pledge $9,600 annually to St. A's. In addition, we support two other Episcopal charities: the Pimlico Youth Project in Baltimore and the Order of Christian Workers in Tyler, Texas. I don't reveal this in the sense of bragging but rather to reject the secrecy and shame of my father's generation by refusing to perpetuate it. Our level of support is motivated by scriptural injunctions to return to God a portion of what God gives us.

"You, like your ancestors before you, have turned away from my laws and have not kept them. Turn back to me, and I will turn back to you. But you ask, 'What must we do to turn back to you?' I ask you, is it right for a person to cheat God? Of course not, yet you are cheating me. 'How?' you ask. In the matter of tithes and offerings. A curse is on all of you because the whole nation is cheating me. Bring the full amount of your tithes to the Temple, so that there will be plenty of food there. Put me to the test and you will see that I will open the windows of heaven and pour out on you in abundance all kinds of good things…Then the people of all nations will call you happy, because your land will be a good place to live." Malachi 3:7-12

Tithing is a long standing part of religious tradition.

We give also out of gratitude and thankfulness. We have been richly blessed in our lives not with material things but with loving relationships and family, especially our adopted son Taran. But more than anything else, I have the example of my folks who believed that one should "buy the best you can afford" and that "you get what you pay for."

St. Augustine's, in spite of its occasional challenges and missteps, is an amazing place. It is a place that takes the spiritual journey seriously and which is intentional about that. It is a place that knows that it is harder to live into inclusivity than exclusivity and yet seeks to do just that. It is a place of radical hospitality and it possesses an infectious spirit in its worship. It is a place, often, of great courage. I'm grateful to be privileged to be a part of all of this and I want to give to make this community even stronger.

The every member canvas (annual pledge drive) is an invitation to each member to make a commitment for the New Year and in so doing, to put God's work and God's Church first in our planning. It should be seen as a privilege to give, as well as a responsibility in community.

But having said all of this, I wonder if the first step (or perhaps remedial step for some) in thinking about these things is to take some time to reflect on the message you received about money from your family. (If your parents are still with you, it could be a rich, living conversation today). Were the messages you received healthy or unhealthy? Clear or conflicting? Hidden and secretive? Shameful because you had too much or too little? What messages did you receive and, for those with children, what messages do you want to give? Before writing your pledge commitment, would you show your daughter the amount you write and explain how you arrived at that figure? Before putting your donation envelope in the collection plate, would you show the check to your son and explain to him what giving means to you? What messages are you giving to the new generation about generosity to things larger than your own family?

The first step forward into the future may be a step backwards, through reflection, into the past. May the Spirit of Christ guide you on the journey and in your decision-making.