A Sunday School class reminded me that generosity is about more than money—it’s about how we show up for one another. 

Last weekend, I led an adult education class at a church in Boise on the spirituality of generosity. We began with a simple question: What words come to mind when you hear the word generosity?

The responses came quickly.

• Giving
• Unselfish
• Helping
• Sharing
• No parameters
• Abundance
• Calling
• Beyond
• Heartfelt
• Tithing
• Example
• Non-judgmental

What struck me most was what people didn’t say. No one mentioned pressure or fear. No one used the language of obligation or scarcity. When invited to speak from the heart, people instinctively described generosity as something open-hearted, relational, and deeply human.

Then I asked a second question: What resources do we have to be generous?

The answers:

• Selves
• Money
• Time
• Love
• Attention
• Talents
• Commitment
• Networks
• Mercy
• Prayer

Money was there, but it was hardly alone.

Taken together, these lists point to a more profound truth: generosity is not first about what we give, but about who we are becoming. Financial giving matters, but it is just one expression of a much broader spiritual posture—one rooted in abundance, trust, and connection.

I sometimes wonder what might change in our churches if conversations about generosity began here. Not with anxiety about budgets, but with curiosity about the many ways God has already equipped us to live open-handed lives.

There was a kind of warmth in their responses, and also a depth that was refreshing. People didn’t talk about generosity as a single act or a narrow obligation. They spoke about a posture and practice, an inward orientation matched with an outward expression. Some of the words pointed inward—unselfish, heartfelt, non-judgmental. Others pointed outward—giving, helping, sharing, being an example. Still others hinted at something vocational or even stretching boundaries—calling, beyond, no parameters.

In other words, generosity shows up as a way of being and living before it ever became a line item.

Many church conversations about generosity begin in precisely the opposite place. We start with what is needed rather than what is already alive. We frame generosity as a response to scarcity rather than an expression of abundance. And without meaning to, we train people to think about generosity almost exclusively in financial terms—even when that isn’t how we experience it in our own lives.

The second question made that gap even clearer.

When I asked what resources we have to be generous, money was on the list, but it wasn’t alone. Time, attention, talents, love, mercy, and prayer also made the list. And money wasn’t first, either. The first answer was profound: Selves. Not skills or assets, but our very selves.

That answer lingers with me because it emphasizes the heart of generosity—giving of ourselves.

It’s not primarily about what we possess, but how we show up. Time is not just hours on a calendar; it is presence with and for another person. Attention is not just focus; it is care. Networks are not just connections; they are trust built over time. Even prayer, sometimes dismissed as intangible, was named as a real and meaningful resource for generosity.

Seen this way, giving money doesn’t disappear, but it’s no longer isolated. It becomes one way we demonstrate our spiritual walk.

That fits with what we know about our relationship with God. Generosity flows from God’s initiative. We do not give to become faithful; we give because we already live within a story of a grace we did not author. The biblical witness assumes abundance before commandment. God gives and then invites a response based on relationship, not obligation.

When the stewardship season skips over that theological ground and moves quickly to budgets and deficits, something important is lost. Generosity becomes transactional. Anxiety creeps in. People begin to hear appeals not as invitations into shared mission, but as pressure points. Even well-crafted stewardship efforts can unintentionally communicate that the primary value people bring is financial.

That is not what the good people in Boise were describing.

They were describing generosity as relational and expansive. I love the words no parameters and non-judgmental. People already understand generosity as something deeply spiritual, even if they would not use that language themselves. The work of church leaders, then, is not to manufacture generosity, but to recognize it, nurture it, and connect it more clearly to the church’s mission.

Healthy churches help people see how financial generosity fits within a lifestyle of Christian discipleship. They acknowledge that seasons of life differ. Generosity looks different at twenty-five than it does at seventy-five. They talk openly about money without reducing generosity to money alone.

In those ways, financial giving is strengthened. People give more freely when they understand their giving as part of their openness and care for others. Trust grows when generosity is framed as shared participation rather than individual obligation. And stewardship conversations become less about closing gaps and more about deepening the alignment between our values and our practice.

I keep coming back to the simplicity of those two questions. No charts. No speeches. Just an invitation to reflect.

• What does generosity mean to you?
• What resources do you already have to be generous?

The answers suggest that people are further along than we might assume. They do not need to be convinced that generosity matters. They need space to name it honestly and guidance on connecting it to the church’s life and mission.

What might change if our conversations about generosity began there?

What if, before asking for commitments, we listened for how generosity is already showing up—in time given quietly, in attention offered faithfully, in networks leveraged compassionately, in prayers carried persistently?

My hunch is that we would discover not a lack of generosity, but an abundance of it. Generosity waiting to be seen, honored, and invited into fuller expression.

 

With gratitude to the members of Covenant Presbyterian Church in Boise, ID, who generously shared their reflections with me.