Page 5135 – Christianity Today (2024)

After three months of study in the missionary society college, young Gladys Aylward, a poor London parlormaid, was told that she was too deficient in education to become a missionary; she’d never be able to learn Chinese, the committee couldn’t accept her. But Gladys was sure God wanted her in China. Unable to find support, she worked as a housemaid and saved enough money for a one-way ticket to Tientsin. She left Liverpool on Oct. 15, 1932 with an old suitcase full of food and clothes; she had about 2 £. Before she reached China, she had to leave the train and trudge through the snow, in bitter cold, among gunfire from the Russo-Chinese War. When Gladys Aylward died in 1970, at 68, she had had a very successful ministry among the Chinese of Yancheng, and had converted, among others, a local Mandarin. She had led 100 children to safety through the mountains during the Japanese invasion and had established an orphanage. She spoke, read, and wrote Chinese fluently.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

Wesley limited his expenditures by not buying the kinds of things generally considered essential for a man in his station of life. In 1776 the English tax commissioners inspected his return and wrote back, “[We] cannot doubt but you have plate for which you have hitherto neglected to make entry.” They assumed that a man of his prominence certainly had silver dinnerware in his house, and they wanted him to pay the proper tax on it. Wesley wrote back, “I have two silver spoons at London and two at Bristol. This is all the plate I have at present, and I shall not buy any more while so many round me want bread.”

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

Born into a wealthy family in Nursia, Italy, Benedict (c. 480–543) left school as a teenager, renounced the world and around 500 retreated to a cave at Subiaco. After some years as a hermit, he formed a cloister with other monks. In 529, he founded a new order of monks at Monte Cassino, between Rome and Naples, drawing up a detailed set of rules for monastic life. Here, in part 33, is the Benedictine Rule’s teaching on personal possessions.

XXXIII. Whether the monks should have anything of their own. More than anything else is this vice of property to be cut off root and branch from the monastery. Let no one presume to give or receive anything without the leave of the abbot, or to retain anything as his own. He should have nothing at all; neither a book, nor tablets, nor a pen—nothing at all. For indeed it is not allowed to the monks to have bodies or wills in their own power. But for all things necessary they must look to the Father of the monastery; nor is it allowable to have anything which the abbot has not given or permitted. All things shall be common to all, as it is written: “Let not any man presume or call anything his own” [Acts 4:32]. But if anyone is found delighting in this most evil vice: being warned once and again, if he do not amend, let him be subjected to punishment.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

When “robber baron” Andrew Carnegie (1835–1919) retired from business life, he donated around $350 million to philanthropic causes. From his “rather successful” business enterprises he donated huge sums to and towards universities, libraries, institutes, churches, foundations, etc. For Carnegie, “the surplus wealth of the few will become, in the best sense, the property of the many.”

Rich men should be thankful for one inestimable boon. They have it in their power during their lives to busy themselves in organizing benefactions from which the masses of their fellows will derive lasting advantage, and thus dignify their own lives. The highest life is probably to be reached, not by such imitation of the life of Christ as Count Tolstoi gives us, but while animated by Christ’s spirit by recognizing the changed conditions of this age, and adopting modes of expressing this spirit suitable to the changed conditions under which we live, still laboring for the good of our fellows, which was the essence of his life and teaching, but laboring in a different means.

This, then, is held to be the duty of the man of wealth: To set an example of modest, unostentatious living, shunning display or extravagance; to provide moderately for the legitimate wants of those dependent upon him; and, after doing so, to consider all surplus revenues which come to him simply as trust funds, which he is called upon to administer… to produce the most beneficial results for the community. (Originally entitled, Wealth, in North American Review, 1889)

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

Most Christians today rarely question the notion that material wellbeing is a goal worth pursuing. Particularly to those of us in the affluent West it appears peculiar that people would voluntarily choose poverty as a way of life. Here at the end of the twentieth century we find the ancient practice of asceticism a strange phenomenon; to us it often looks as much like self-torture as self-discipline.

Who were these Christians who shunned the world’s comforts in order to pursue holiness? Did they not believe—as we do—that the Christian life can be pursued while still living a reasonably conventional life? Their answer was a definite “no,” and they found their reasons why in what they considered the mandate of Jesus in the New Testament.

Biblical Roots

The early Church took root within Judaism, which is not an ascetic religion. The Jews believed that creation was a good gift of God, given to man to enjoy. To deliberately deny oneself the pleasures that come from prosperity was to appear ungrateful. King Solomon was remembered as much for his wealth as for his wisdom, and Abraham and Job were archetypes of the wealthy man who is a friend of God.

Jesus was not an ascetic. His critics contrasted his lifestyle with John the Baptist’s, who lived on wilderness food and wore crude clothing. They accused Jesus, by contrast, of being a glutton and a “wine-bibber.” Not that he was such, but his behavior was conventional enough to contrast with John’s. Still, Jesus had harsh words for the rich who worshiped their possessions. He claimed it was “easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” On at least one occasion he told a rich man to sell all he had and give the money to the poor. Yet Jesus called people to a God-centered life of self-denial and self-control, not a thoroughgoing asceticism. However some later Christians believed this was what he taught.

Change with Constantine

Persecution of Christians began fairly early, as we see in the New Testament. Official persecutions carried out by Rome were sporadic, but they were widespread enough that many believers became martyrs. Early on, Christians developed a reverent tradition surrounding those who died for their faith. It was considered the greatest honor to give up one’s life and thus to die for, and with, Christ. Martyrdom was the ultimate sharing in the sufferings of the Savior.

Not everyone, of course, was called to martyrdom, but sufferings of other sorts were inevitable. Christians were regarded with suspicion, and as scorners of imperial religion they had no social prestige and little chance for social advancement. They were often sneered at by their pagan neighbors, so suffering for Christ was a common occurrence. In such a context there was little call for voluntarily taking new burdens on oneself.

With the conversion of the Roman emporer Constantine (ruled 312–337), the Church’s situation changed drastically. Martyrdom was no longer a threat, and Christianity gradually changed from a persecuted minority cult to a respectable religion with state toleration and favor (whether by offical proclamation is unknown and debated). When the masses started to pour into the Church in the fourth century, it became harder and harder to distinguish the Christians from everyone else. What had been a religion of the dispossessed became the religion of the many. Faith became “easy,” and sincerity became less common. For the zealous, the answer was to withdraw from a Church that had compromised with the worldly empire. This was how monasticism began.

Before discussing monastic asceticism, we should briefly consider the role of wealth in the pre-Constantine Church. While it’s true that the Church appealed more to the dispossessed than to the wealthy, there were wealthy believers. Some abused their position by expecting favoritism, but some were genuinely eager to help their less-fortunate brethren. In the ancient world, with no systematic welfare provisions, the Church was unique in offering both spiritual and material solace to the deprived.

Because the churches came to fill this need, the budget of the ancient bishop was large. Assisted by his deacons, the bishop administered widespread relief work, caring for the sick, prisoners, travelers, captives who needed redeeming, and the unemployed. When Constantine moved his capital from Rome to Constantinople in 330, the bishops of Rome became the most important figures in the “eternal city.” Along with the bishops in other large cities, they became, in effect, regional governors, responsible for both the spiritual and material well-being of those under their charge.

Sadly, though many bishops were models of Christian character, the position of bishop became a tempting prize for the greedy and power-hungry. Bishops were exempt from taxes, and in the larger cities they had much wealth at their disposal. As Christianity became the favored religion, the hierarchy became increasingly prestigious and wealthy. No wonder the spiritually sensitive were often appalled at how far the Church had moved from the New Testament model.

Early Monasticism

Probably the first Christian monk of renown was Anthony of Egypt (c. 250–356), who, believing that Jesus’ words to the rich young ruler also applied to himself, sold his inheritance, gave the money to the poor, and withdrew into the desert to live as a hermit. His admirers were many (including Athanasius, who wrote his biography), and some followed him into the desert to find solitude and to draw closer to God.

Anthony’s monasticism was strictly for rugged individualists. Another Egyptian, Pachomius (c. 290–346), started cenobitic (communal) monasticism. Here persons subjected themselves to discipline in community, renouncing money and property, doing hard labor, and taking sparse meals together.

Some of the feats of the hermits and community monks are amazing, even bizarre. Simon Stylites chose to live for years atop a pillar among ruins and have supplies passed up by rope; others lived in trees. Some had themselves walled up in narrow enclosures and fed through small openings. Some wore only garments of thorns. Strange as some of their practices seem to us, these monks were trying hard to express something valid: total devotion to God and imitation of Christ. Money was seen as a hindrance, an entanglement with the world that the truly spiritual person would avoid.

Some scholars claim that Christian monasticism was much affected by various world disparaging Greek and Oriental philosophies. Christian leaders fought against these movements for years, but their influence was probably important in the perpetuation of asceticism. Yet as G. K. Chesterton pointed out, Christian asceticism was still Christian, and world-denying though it may have been, it was ultimately rooted not in sheer hatred for the world, but in the desire to be a true follower of Christ.

In order to remind the monks and nuns that they were indeed striving to follow Christ, the authority of orthodox teaching was needed. This came in the East from Basil, and in the West from Benedict. Basil (330–379), bishop of Caesarea, in what is now Turkey, laid down some common sense rules for the monastics. While in no way trying to soften the monastic life, Basil’s rules forbade unnecessary and eccentric behavior. He also prescribed helping the poor and orphans, thus ensuring that even while detached from the world, the monks would be of benefit to it. Sadly, Basil’s teaching was too often neglected in the monastic life.

In Italy, Benedict of Nursia (480–547) founded a monastic order with rules about manual labor, directed reading, and regular worship throughout the day. Monks were to own nothing (see the sidebar), and were to keep constantly busy to avoid succumbing to temptation.

As previously mentioned, after Constantine the title of bishop was eagerly sought by the avaricious and power-hungry. Wisely, the Church often found its best bishops from among the monks. While greedy clerics continued to vie for bishoprics, monks seldom did, and the more saintly among them often found themselves—sometimes unwillingly—in control of a diocese. (One retiring monk who was persuaded to leave the cloister became Pope Gregory I, “the Great,” in 590).

Often the best bishops were men who early in life had decided to renounce property and retreat from the world. Even today in the Eastern Orthodox Churches most bishops are former monks.

Of course, not all monks were saintly. The abuses of monasticism are too numerous and well-known to examine here in detail. Of interest to us here, however, is the fact that, ironically, the same monks who had dedicated themselves to poverty often became very prosperous. The industrious monks were highly productive farmers, and this productivity inevitably brought wealth. Certain monks were pioneers in agricultural methods, especially those who settled in and developed more remote and untamed areas of Europe.

While in principle they still continued the practice of not owning property individually (the monastic orders owned vast areas of land), wealth naturally emerged from their industry. Some was given to the poor, but not all or most. And as the monastic wealth increased, so did moral laxity. Too many forgot about sharing the wealth with those outside the abbey walls. Personal behavior was often scandalous; the ascetic ideal was distorted.

Immorality was not merely the result of hard work producing wealth. Many monasteries and convents served as refuges for wayward children of the wealthy. These people, having no desire for the spiritual life, often tried to maintain their affluent lifestyles within the abbey walls. Records tell of masses being interrupted by the baying of hounds belonging to certain nuns who had recently come from the ranks of the wealthy. Such situations convinced some of the more devout monks and nuns of the superiority of their vows of poverty.

Francis of Assisi (1182–1226)

Medieval Monks and Friars

It’s a mistake to think that Medieval monasticism was totally corrupt. Reformers always appeared to return others to the ideals of the ascetic life, especially poverty and chastity.

Giovanni Bernadone, better known as Francis of Assisi (1182–1226), abandoned his frivilous youth and family riches, and taking Jesus’ advice to his disciples as given in Matt. 10:7–19 as a personal call, left his possessions. He ate the plainest food, wore simple gray garments, and owned practically nothing. He refused to accept money, only food. His followers, the Franciscans, took vows of poverty, and went two by two on preaching missions, begging for their food. A similar order, the Poor Clares, was formed for women.

Most significantly, a third order was formed, called the Tertiaries, for laypeople who could not commit themselves totally but wanted more intense spiritual lives. The Franciscans were extremely attractive to the common folk, and the third order for laymen proved that vital Christianity was for all, not just full-time monks. Unlike the friars, the laymen could own money and property.

Dominic (1170–1221), a contemporary of Francis’, founded the Dominican order. The Dominicans were dedicated to preaching and teaching. (Their emphasis on teaching was a result of the need to counter various heretical teachings of their day.) Like the Franciscans, they were friars, who worked or begged for food, dressed plainly, practiced celibacy, and were forbidden to own property.

In time, as with other ascetic groups, the Dominicans and Franciscans were compromised by the society around them and fell away from their original ideals. However, the monastic life was still seen as the best way to God, and people often spent their last days in monasteries, hoping to increase their chances of divine forgiveness.

The great Dominican theologian, Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274), helped solidify the Church’s position on property. For Thomas, the best way to be spiritual in this area was to renounce material goods. However, a famous story about a meeting of Thomas with Louis IX, king of France from 1226–1270, tells us how much admiration and respect Thomas had for the pious crusader king, who represented great wealth. Both men were canonized by the Roman Church, showing that the Church recognized that both those with wealth and those without could enter the Kingdom of God.

But for the most part a double standard prevailed: salvation was possible for the layman, but a sure thing for the monk or nun. Total devotion to the true spiritual life was the exclusive domain of the monastics; the Christ-like life was not something those outside of the monasteries were expected to pursue. Because this special class of religiosi (“the religious”) existed who were supposed to renounce all worldly pleasures, laypeople were not expected to renounce anything. In fact, not only the laypeople, but also the clergy themselves were exempt from otherworldly constraints, though clergy were expected to be celibate. [It is important to keep in mind that the monastic orders were not within the hierarchical structure of the Catholic Church; they were not clerical. They were unique organizations often accountable only to the pope, or to themselves.] Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales paints a picture of the friars as corrupt and lecherous hypocrites. As the Middle Ages progressed, many thoughtful Christians came to believe that the ideal that called for renunciation of money and property had done more harm than good.

Important lay movements did spring up, notably, as mentioned, the lay monastic orders. Also, groups such as the Waldensians in southern France, the Humiliati in Lombardy, and the Brethren of the Common Life in Holland and Germany provided the laity opportunity for a devout life: to study the Bible, pray, and help the poor. Various other movements arose as people became concerned that parishoners needed a more vital spirituality. Most of these movements emphasized discipline and moderation, not abstinence. The notion that one could be spiritual while living in the world and owning money and property was gaining more and more acceptance.

The Reformation

By the time of the Reformation, monasticism was held in disrepute by so many believers that the Reformers had no qualms about dismissing it completely. Martin Luther (1483–1546) had been an Augustinian monk, and as a youth he held the common view that monasticism was the true Christian life. He had delighted that the ascetic life of the monastery offered freedom from the distractions of the world. However, shortly after his Ninety-five Theses were written in Wittenberg and shook the Church, Luther published On Monastic Vows, in which he stated that monks’ vows conflicted with Scripture, and with charity and freedom. Railing against the Church’s system of good works, Luther rejected the whole monastic system. He not only claimed that all believers were priests, but that no occupation, whether professionally “religious” or not, was any better in God’s sight than any other. All people can honor God, he claimed, with honest labor in their “divine calling,” no matter how menial.

John Calvin (1509–1564) had never been a monk, though he had always lived a relatively austere life. Educated as a Christian humanist, Calvin had a lifelong suspicion of any form of excess, including religious excess. He was hostile toward asceticism and called on Christians to rejoice in the good things God had given them. Though he was a creation-affirming man, like Luther, Calvin attacked greed and ostentation and upheld the virtues of humility and moderation. He did not see evil in Christians accumulating money, so long as it did not distract them from God.

The Anabaptists, in agreement with the other wings of the Reformation, frequently condemned monasticism. But, unlike the more socially established Lutherans and Calvinists, Anabaptists were often the objects of persecution by the state. Persecuted wherever they lived, Anabaptists wrote much about sharing in Christ’s sufferings. They also shared materially with each other, and placed much emphasis on helping the needy. For the most part they did not practice a strict communism, but community for them was very important. Like Calvin (who was no friend of Anabaptism), they taught restraint more than deprivation. Like the New Testament Church, they emphasized alleviating the poverty of others, not striving for it.

Stephen Lang is an editor at Tyndale House Publishers.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

A leader of the Quakers in colonial New Jersey, John Woolman (1720–1772) started as a tailor and ran a small, successful business. Leaving the retail trade, he traveled as a Quaker minister in the colonies (though he continued to practice his craft of tailoring). His experiences in the South convinced him of the utter evil of slavery; through his earnest efforts, the Quaker community first unified in opposition to slaveholding. Although he made part of his living by writing wills, he refused to write up any transactions that included slaves. These excerpts are from his essay A Plea for the Poor, first published as A Word of Caution and Remembrance to the Rich.

Wealth desired for its own sake obstructs the increase of virtue, and large possessions in the hands of selfish men have a bad tendency, for by their means too small a number of people are employed in useful things, and some of them are necessitated to labor too hard, while others would want business to earn their bread, were not employments invented which, having no real usefulness, serve only to please the vain mind.

The Creator of the earth is the owner of it. He gave us being thereon, and our nature requires nourishment from the produce of it. He is kind and merciful to his creatures; and while they live answerably to the design of their creation, they are so far entitled to convenient subsistence that we may not justly deprive them of it. By the agreements and contracts of our predecessors, and by our own doings, some enjoy a much greater share of this world than others; and while those possessions are faithfully improved for the good of the whole, it agrees with equity; but he who, with a view to self-exaltation, causeth some to labor immoderately, and with the profits arising therefrom employs others in the luxuries of life, acts contrary to the gracious designs of Him who is the owner of the earth; nor can any possessions, either acquired or derived from ancestors, justify such conduct. Goodness remains to be goodness, and the direction of pure wisdom is obligatory on all reasonable creatures.

… if our views are to lay up riches, or to live in conformity to customs which have not their foundation in the truth, and our demands are such as require from [the poor] greater toil or application to business than is consistent with pure love, we invade their rights as inhabitants of a world of which a good and gracious God is the proprietor, and under whom we are tenants.

Let us reflect on the condition of a poor innocent man, on whom the rich man, from a desire after wealth and luxuries, lays heavy burdens; when this laborer looks over the cause of his heavy toil and considers that it is laid on him to support that which hath no foundation in pure wisdom, we may well suppose that an uneasiness ariseth in his mind towards one who might without any inconvenience deal more favorably with him. When he considers that by his industry his fellow-creature is benefited and sees that this wealthy man is not satisfied with being supported in a plain way … we may reasonably judge that he will think himself unkindly used. When he considers that the proceedings of the wealthy are agreeable to the customs of the times, and sees no means of redress in this world, how will the sighings of this innocent person ascend to the throne of that great and good being who created all, and who hath a constant care over his creatures!

Many at this day … indulge themselves in ways of life which occasion more labor than Infinite Goodness intends for man, and yet compassionate the distresses of such as come directly under their observation; were these to change circ*mstances awhile with their laborers . . . I believe many of them would embrace a less expensive life, and would lighten the heavy burdens of some who now labor out of their sight…. To see their fellow-creatures under difficulties to which they are in no degree accessory tends to awaken tenderness in the minds of all reasonable people; but if we consider the condition of those who are depressed in answering our demands, who labor for us out of our sight while we pass our time in fulness, and consider that much less than we demand would supply us with things really useful, what heart will not relent, or what reasonable man can refrain from mitigating that grief of which he himself is the cause, when he may do so without inconvenience?

If by our wealth we make our children great, without a full persuasion that we could not bestow it better, and thus give them power to deal hardly with others more virtuous than they, it can after death give us no more satisfaction than if by this treasure we had raised others above our own, and had given them power to oppress them.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

This is our second issue of Christian History devoted to money. In “Money I” (Issue 14), we asked for your responses so that we could incorporate your ideas into this issue. This is the result. Reader input is reflected in the reader response section beginning on page 4; also, our feature articles deal with areas you requested. It’s our intention to give more space in all future issues to your responses, so send in your letters; though we can’t print or answer every one, we will at least read them all and consider your suggestions. We like to hear from you.

Korean Presbyterian leader Kyung Chik Han has observed that “Jesus spoke more about money than he did any other subject.” Whether you agree with this observation or not, that Jesus should devote so much attention to worldly goods and money may at first seem surprising when we consider how unattracted he was by their lure. However, it’s not surprising when we reflect that after the two millennia of its existence, the Church still struggles to find its way through the money maze.

We are sure of some things: the Bible makes it clear that we should love God above everything (Mark 12:30); we should not love money nor desire to be rich (Matt 6:24, 1 Tim 6:9); we should be responsible providers (1 Tim 5:8); we should be generous givers (2 Cor 9:6, 7); we should sacrifice for the Kingdom of God (Luke 18:29, 30).

But … how do we sacrifice? Over the centuries Christians have been persuaded in the name of Christ to sacrificially finance massive construction projects (e.g., St. Peters Cathedral), armed military invasions (the Crusades), enormous ecclesiastical bureaucracies (the Medieval Church), and all manner of missionary outreaches. The appeals can vary: A great cause. A great personality. The Spiritual benefits—maybe divine forgiveness. Recognition received. Gratitude to, and love of God.

In every age the predisposition of Christians to give has made opportunity for both God-honoring service, and exploitation. Our day has witnessed a development of a sophisticated fund-raising industry capable of generating huge sums through mass marketing. The potential for abuse is great; no need to recount the more recent scandals that emphasize this so painfully.

Expect the fund-raising frenzy to intensify. Consultants are warning non-profit organizations of the leaner days ahead, pointing out that 50% of givers are between 60 and 80 years old, and one-fourth of today’s givers will not be replaced because of depressed birth rates in the Great Depression. In the financial offices of some religious organizations, plans are being made for your money.

The battle for our bucks will become more emotional, more frequent, more crisis-oriented. How will we decide which ministries deserve our support? After recent events, should we give anything to the huge media megaministries? How best can we use our money?

For many, the solution of how to deal with money has been simple: avoid it, hands off. It’s all filthy lucre, mammon, and handling it will bring contamination. The history of asceticism is surveyed here in Stephen Lang’s The Urge for Poverty; you must decide whether sacrifice will mean drastic measures for you. You probably won’t sit atop a pillar to escape the corruption of the world, but how far should you go in denying the things of this world?

The remarkable John Wesley may seem a bit heavy-handed to you at times, but try to read his uncompromising teachings in Charles White’s Four Lessons on Money article without being challenged —or convicted.

How many silver spoons should you have?

What an example women have traditionally set by their organized works of mercy. Could Karen Halvorsen’s article, The Benevolent Tradition, suggest that these women may offer us some of the best examples of leadership through service and faith proven by works? It does seem strange that women were edged out of leadership and control in mission organizations early in this century, when they were the most active in service and most successful in raising money for the Great Commission.

Consider the marriage of religiously-inspired works of charity with the pursuit of great wealth. As you read Paul Heidebrecht’s article Businessman’s Religion, ask yourself: Is the goal of getting rich okay if we “promise to do great things for God with the money”? This is a notion we’re all probably familiar with; is it an attempt to buy good deeds, or force God’s hand? But who else will fund our great enterprises, if not those who possess great wealth? Is it “spiritual” to claim, “God will provide,” without investing the sweat and toil that produce wealth? How do you draw the line between growing wealthy while seeking to serve God, and seeking to grow wealthy so you can serve God? Just how hard is it for a camel to squeeze through the eye of a needle?

Last of all, observe the well-thought-out and practical advice (i.e., wisdom) of the Puritans on the subject of money. After reading Leland Ryken’s article, That Which God Hath Lent Thee, you may wonder why the Puritans historically have been misrepresented, and why they have been neglected by much of the church. Overall, the Puritans seem to have seen money as something to be used properly, not as something to be shunned. For them, those who would consider it spiritually superior to withdraw from the world and material things are really neglecting to take care of the things God has entrusted to them. Their critiques of our commonly held attitudes today and their relevant insight into these things should be sobering to us all. After 300 years, we still haven’t gotten hold of the balanced view they put forth. Can you find serious fault with their intentions or advice?

It’s not our intention to enter the debate about what is the “correct” Christian economic model. We simply hope that these articles help you as you think through how you should use your money in the best possible God-honoring way. We also hope you are encouraged and challenged. With all the pressures of our materialistic culture, all the temptations to spend and accumulate, all the options to consider for giving, and all the well-groomed folks out there pleading with us to make a “faith pledge” to their most urgent of important causes, we all need all the help and wisdom we can get. Our prayer is that this issue of Christian History will help you along the way.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

One of the most influential and controversial books of our century was Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1930). Beginning with the observation that the rise of middleclass trade occurred chiefly among Protestants, Weber set out to explore the connections between the “the Protestant ethic” and “the spirit of modern capitalism.” He found many connections: a belief that one can serve God in one’s worldly calling, a tendency to live disciplined and even ascetic lives, a spirit of individualism, emphasis on working hard, and a good conscience about making money. Although Weber was highly selective in the data he chose to consider, his analysis uncovered much that is important about the Protestant movement.

The so-called Weber thesis produced some unfortunate results, however. Protestants have been pictured as elevating money-making to the highest goal in life, as viewing the amassing of wealth as a moral obligation, and as approving virtually every kind of business competition. A look at Puritan attitudes and practices toward money will show that the Weber thesis was a good idea that ended up seriously perverting the truth.

Is Money Good or Bad?

When Martin Luther became a monk, he took a vow of poverty. This reflected a long-standing Catholic view that poverty is inherently virtuous for a person. But the Reformers—including Luther himself—did not see it that way. The starting point in their thinking about money and possessions was that these things are good in principle.

The Puritans agreed with Calvin that “money in itself is good.” When Samuel Willard eulogized John Hull at his funeral, he saw no contradiction between the merchant’s having been “a saint upon earth” who lived “above the world” and his having been industrious in his business, so that it could be said of him that “Providence had given him a prosperous portion of this world’s goods.” According to Richard Baxter, “All love of the creature, the world, or riches is not sin. For the works of God are all good, as such.”

Samuel Willard theorized that “riches are consistent with godliness, and the more a man hath, the more advantage he hath to do good with it, if God give him an heart to it.” William Adams regarded economic endeavor as worthy of a Christian’s affection; he wrote that the Christian “hath much business to do in and about the world, which he is vigorously to attend, and he hath … that in the world upon which he is to bestow his affection.”

In affirming the goodness of money, the Puritans found it necessary to defend the legitimate aspects of money against its detractors. William Perkins did so in a sermon on Matthew 6:19–20, in which he listed what Christ did not forbid:

Diligent labour in a main vocation, whereby [a person] provides things needful for himself, and those that depend on him.… The fruition and possession of goods and riches: for they are the good blessing of God being well used.… The gathering and laying up of treasure is not simply forbidden, for the word of God alloweth here for in some respect. 2 Corinthians 12:14

The Puritans had no guilt about making money; to make money was a form of stewardship. The Weber thesis made mileage out of Baxter’s statement:

If God shows you a way in which you lawfully get more than in another way (without wrong to your soul, or to any other), if you refuse this, and choose the less gainful way, you cross one of the ends of your calling, and you refuse to be God’s steward.

In the broader context of Baxter’s writing on economics, this call for efficiency and productiveness is simply an evidence of common sense and a strong sense of wishing to be a good steward of God’s gifts.

William Perkins (1558–1602)

Why were the Puritans so sure that money was a good thing? Chiefly because they believed that money and wealth were gifts from God. “If we happen to have inherited much property,” wrote William Perkins, “we are to enjoy those in good conscience as blessings and gifts of God.” John Robinson commented, “The blessing of the Lord maketh rich .… And as riches are in themselves God’s blessings, so are we to desire them for the comfortable course of our natural and civil states.” If money and property are gifts from God, Richard Sibbes could affirm, “worldly things are good in themselves and given to sweeten our passage to heaven.”

Because the Puritans viewed prosperity as a gift from God, they decisively dissociated it from the idea of human merit. If it is a gift, how can it be earned? Not only does human effort not guarantee success; even if God blesses work with prosperity, it is God’s grace and not human merit that produces the blessing. Cotton Mather asserted, “in our occupation we spread our nets; but it is God that brings unto our nets all that comes to them.” “If goods be gotten by industry, providence, and skill,” wrote John Robinson, “it is God’s blessing that both gives the faculty, and the use of it, and the success unto it.” The Puritan ethic is an ethic of grace, not of human merit.

The Puritans’ defense of private property was an extension of their belief in the legitimacy of money. William Ames wrote that private property is founded “not only on human but also on natural and divine right.” Elsewhere Ames wrote that there is justice “in the lawful keeping of the things we have.” When John Hull, one of the first merchant princes of Massachusetts, lost his ships to the Dutch, he took consolation in God’s providence: “The loss of my estate will be nothing, if the Lord please to join my soul nearer to himself, and loose it more from creature comforts.” But when his foreman stole his horses, Hull took the view that “I would have you know that they are, by God’s good providence, mine.”

Puritan endorsem*nt of money and property should not be construed as meaning that the Puritans elevated material goods above spiritual values. John Winthrop disparaged those who mistake “outward prosperity for true felicity.” Peter Bulkeley wrote that a Christian “may do many things for himself,” yet only so long as “this is not in opposition, but in subordination, to God and his glory.”

What About Poverty?

If riches are a blessing from God, then poverty must be a curse and a sign of God’s disfavor—right? Wrong, said the Puritans, who disagreed with a whole tissue of assumptions often attributed to them in the twentieth century.

In the first place, the Puritans disagreed that godliness is a guarantee of success. Thomas Watson went so far as to say that “true godliness is usually attended with persecution .… The saints have no charter of exemption from trials.… Their piety will not shield them from sufferings.”

If godliness is not a guarantee of success, then the converse is also true: success is not a sign of godliness. This is how the Puritans understood the matter. John Cotton stated that a Christian “equally bears good and evil successes as God shall dispense them to him.” Samuel Willard wrote, “As riches are not evidences of God’s love, so neither is poverty of his anger or hatred.”

With the causal link between success and godliness thus severed, the Puritans concluded several things about poverty. One was that poverty is not necessarily a bad or shameful thing. “Poverty in itself,” wrote Ames, “hath no crime in it, or fault to be ashamed of: but is oftentimes sent from God to the godly, either as a correction, or trial or searching, or both.” Richard Baxter concluded:

None are shut out of the church for want of money, nor is poverty any eyesore to Christ. An empty heart may bar them out, but an empty purse cannot. His kingdom of grace hath ever been more consistent with despised poverty than wealth and honor.

In fact, the Puritans claimed that poverty may well be God’s way of spiritually blessing or teaching a person. In dealing with biblical passages that promise God’s blessing to believers, Samuel Bolton wrote:

But shall we judge nothing to have the nature of blessing but the enjoyment of temporal and outward good things? May not losses be blessings as well as enjoyments?

And Thomas Watson, in a list of “things that work for good to God’s children,” included poverty in the list, with this comment:

Poverty works for good to God’s children. It starves their lusts. It increases their graces. “Poor in the world, rich in faith” (James 2:5). Poverly tends to prayer. When God has clipped his childen’s wings by poverty, they fly swiftest to the throne of grace.

In thus vindicating poverty, the Puritans were careful to distinguish themselves from Catholic teaching about poverty as meritorious in itself. William Ames made this clear when he denounced the monk’s vows of poverty as “madness, a superstitious and wicked presumption, being that they sell this poverty for a work of perfection … which will much prevail for satisfaction and merit before God. ”

The Puritans used the phrase “evangelical poverty” to describe their ideal of learning spiritual lessons from such poverty as God might send them in their ordinary callings in this world.

The Puritans did not idealize poverty as something to be sought. Contrary to Catholic monastic theory, the Puritans theorized that poverty is no sure way to avoid temptation. Richard Baxter commented:

Poverty also hath its temptations …. For even the poor may be undone by the love of that wealth and plenty which they never get: and they may perish for over-loving the world, that never yet prospered in the world.

The Puritans also rejected the ethic of unconcern that is content to let the poor remain poor. In their view, poverty is not an unmitigated misfortune, but it is certainly not the goal that we should have for people. “The rich man by liberality must dispose and comfort the poor,” said Thomas Lever in a sermon. “God never gave a gift,” preached Hugh Latimer, “but that he sent occasion at one time or another to show it to God’s glory. As if he sent riches, he sendeth poor men to be helped with it.” Latimer even went so far as to say that “the poor man hath title to the rich man’s goods; so that the rich man ought to let the poor man have part of his riches to help and to comfort him withal.”

On the subject of poverty, then, the Puritans taught that it is sometimes the lot of the godly and that it can be a spiritual blessing. It is not, however, meritorious in itself, and poor people require the generosity of people who have the resources to help them.

Richard Baxter (1615–1691)

The Dangers of Wealth

Instead of regarding success as a sign of God’s approval or of their own virtue, the Puritans were much more likely to look upon prosperity as a temptation. A marginal note to Genesis 13:1 in the Geneva Bible speaks volumes: “Abraham’s great riches gotten in Egypt hindered him not to follow his vocation,” implying that his riches could easily have become a temptation to him. “Both poverty and riches,” wrote John Robinson, “have their temptations …. And of the two states, … the temptations of riches are the more dangerous.” Thomas Lever claimed, “He that seeks to be rich … will fall into diverse temptations and snares of the devil.” Richard Rogers woke up a little after midnight and was convicted of the fact that the blessings of God “waxed too sweet to me, and … dangerous.”

Much to our surprise, the Puritans saw an inverse relationship between wealth and godliness. It did not have to turn out this way, but in their view it usually did. “Remember that riches do make it harder for a man to be saved,” warned Richard Baxter. Samuel Willard believed that “it is a rare thing to see men that have the greatest visible advantages…to be very zealous for God.” Richard Sibbes noted that “where the world hath got possession in the heart, it makes us false to God, and false to man, it makes us unfaithful in our callings, and false to religion itself.”

In elaborating this theme of the dangers of wealth, the Puritans gave an anatomy of the reasons why money is dangerous. Foremost is the tendency of money to replace God as the object of ultimate devotion. Worldly goods “are veils set betwixt God and us, they stay our sight in them that it cannot pierce to God.” “How ready is [man] to terminate his happiness in externals,” noted Thomas Watson. John Robinson said the same: “If a man be rich, and full, he is in danger to deny God, and to say in pride, and contempt of him …, who is the Lord?” Richard Rogers noted regarding the wealthy bishops and clerics of the Anglican church that they “did never seem grossly to have departed from God till they grew in wealth and promotion.”

A second reason why riches are dangerous is that they instill reliance on self instead of on God. Richard Baxter was of the opinion that “when men prosper in the world, their minds are lifted up with their estates, and they can hardly believe that they are so ill, while they feel themselves so well.”

The acquisition of wealth, said the Puritans, also has a way of absorbing so much of a person’s time and energy that it draws him or her away from religion and moral concern for others. Richard Mather, in his farewell sermon, said:

Experience shows that it is an easy thing in the midst of a worldly business to lose the life and power of religion that nothing thereof should be left but only the external form, as it were the carcass or shell, worldliness having eaten out the kernel and having consumed the very soul and life of godliness.

Cotton Mather was equally alarmed by the trend toward materialism in New England Society: “Religion begat prosperity and the daughter devoured the mother.”

The Puritans also realized that money is dangerous because it generates an appetite that it can never satisfy. Money never keeps its promises, they observed. “Riches are like painted grapes,” wrote Henry Smith, “which look as though they would satisfy a man, but do not slake his hunger or quench his thirst. Riches indeed do make a man covet more, and get envy, and keep the mind in care.”

If money is as dangerous as all this, shouldn’t a person simply avoid it? Not according to the Puritans. William Ames claimed that “riches… are morally neither good or bad, but things indifferent which men may use either well or ill.” Thomas Adams told his city congregation, “We teach you not to cast away the bag, but covetousness.”

Cotton Mather (1663–1727)

How Much Is Enough? The Puritan Ideal of Moderation

For the Puritans, the crucial issue was not how large a person’s income was, but how much money was spent on oneself. The Puritan ideal was moderation. Such an ideal has, of course, appealed to many people besides the Puritans, but the concept of “temperance” was associated with the Puritans in their time.

The Puritans conceived of moderation or temperance as a golden mean between extremes. John Downame wrote that “the mean [median] estate is much to be preferred before the greatest prosperity .… The mean estate… preserveth us from forgetfulness of God, irreligion, and profaneness.”

If moderation is the goal, it needs to be protected against its opposites. One of these is greed for wealth, which is often intertwined with covetousness. In a sermon on Matthew 6:19–20, Perkins listed the following as the thing that Christ forbids: “sundry practices of covetousness, whereof the first is excessive seeking of worldly wealth, when men keep no measure or moderation.”

Another thing that moderation stands opposed to is luxury. The Puritans looked askance at a luxurious lifestyle, no matter what form it took one’s house, clothing, recreation, or eating habits. When Richard Baxter denounced the “wealthy vices,” he included a discussion of sensuality, overeating, and overindulgence in sports and recreation. His “directions against prodigality and sinful wastefulness” included comments against “pampering the belly in excess … or costliness of meat or drink,” “needless costly visits and entertainments,” and “unnecessary sumptuous buildings.”

Such warnings against luxury were common among the Puritans. Having defined the essence of luxury with the formula “wealth more than necessary for nature and person,” William Perkins proceeded to show his negative assessment of it: it is “as a knife in the hands of a child, likely to hurt, if not taken away.” Samuel Ward, in his college diary, listed as one of the “sins of the university” that of “excess in apparel.”

It would be wrong to conclude that because the Puritans were opposed to luxury they were ascetic. They did not think that denying oneself legitimate indulgences was inherently virtuous. In fact, they were as clear-sighted about the temptations of poverty as they were about the temptations of luxury. Baxter’s list of temptations ran like this: “overmuch care about their wants and worldly matters,” discontent, covetousness, envy of the rich, neglect of spiritual duties, and neglect of “the holy education of their children.”

Richard Rogers, in the privacy of his diary, summarized the perspective in which the Puritans affirmed wealth: “So it may be said of our outward prosperity that for as much as God giveth us such great encouragement, we can willingly delight with others in things which are good. But we must find that our hearty embracing of the doctrine of God and love of it and labouring after a good conscience to find joy in Christ’s redeeming us is that which maketh our lives joyful, for this cannot by any malice of man nor devil be taken from us.”

What Is Money For?

The more we explore Puritan attitudes, the more apparent it becomes that the key to everything they said on the topic was their conviction that money is a social good, not a private possession. Its main purpose is the welfare of everyone in society, not the personal pleasure of the person who happens to have control over it.

The genius of Puritanism was its clear-sightedness about what things are for, and that genius did not desert them in money matters. Everything depends on how a person uses his or her money. Baxter stated, “The question is how they use that which they labour so hard for, and save so sparingly. If they use it for God, and for charitable uses, there is no man taketh a righter course.”

What are the ends or uses of money? The Puritans can speak for themselves on this topic. “Riches may enable us to relieve our needy brethren, and to promote good works for church and state.” Money exists “for the glory of God and the good of others.” “The more diligently we pursue our several callings, the more we are capacitated to extend our charity to such as are in poverty and distress.” “God’s children look to the spiritual use of those things which the worldlings use carnally.” In none of these comments about the purpose of earning money does one get the impression that income is something people have a right to spend on themselves simply because they have earned it.

William Perkins provides an adequate summary on using money:

We must so use and possess the goods we have, that the use and possession of them may tend to God’s glory, and the salvation of our souls …. Our riches must be employed to necessary uses. These are first, the maintenance of our own good estate and condition. Secondly, the good of others, specially those that are of our family or kindred …. Thirdly, the relief of the poor…. Fourthly, the maintenance of the church of God, and true religion …. Fifth, the maintenance of the Commonwealth.

The belief that money is a social good is also the key to Puritan views on the taking of interest. In the sixteenth century the Puritans were overwhelmingly opposed to the practice of taking interest on money that had been lent. They were opposed to it because of Old Testament prohibitions against it and because of what they felt to be the spirit behind the practice, namely, covetousness and greed. As society changed, becoming less agrarian and more industrial, Puritans increasingly made a distinction between interest and usury (exploitive interest).

At first glance, the two attitudes seem contradictory, but in fact they are not. Look at what the anti-interest and pro-interest Puritans had in common: they both agreed that money is a social good and that therefore hoarding and exploitation are not permissible. In an increasingly commercial society, the most compassionate act became the willingness to lend money at a modest rate of interest. In Baxter’s words, “There is an usury which is against neither justice nor charity,” and he went on to describe conditions under which it is charitable.

Why did the Puritans view money as a social good when, as our modern view shows, it is so much more natural to view it as a person’s own possession? The Puritan outlook stemmed from a firm belief that people are stewards of what God has entrusted to them. Money is ultimately God’s, not ours. In the words of the influential Puritan book, A Godly Form of Household Government, money is “that which God hath lent thee.”

Leland Ryken is professor of English at Wheaton College. This article and sidebar are taken from chapter 4, Money, in his book Worldly Saints: The Puritans As They Really Were, Academie/Zondervan, 1986.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

Simon Magus

First Century A.D.

Simon Magus set the precedent for the misuse of money that has plagued the Church for two millennia. His practice of sorcery in Samaria was upstaged by the miracles accompanying the preaching and baptisms of Philip the Evangelist. When Peter and John arrived, they placed their hands on the new converts, and Simon witnessed the power of the Holy Spirit.

“Give me this ability!” Simon pleaded, offering the apostles money.

“To hell with you and your money!” is a literal rendering of Peter’s reply. The biblical account breaks off with Simon’s plea that the curse not be fulfilled; one early Church tradition claims that the unrepentant Simon traveled to Rome and founded Gnosticism. Today we call the purchase of Church offices “simony,” in memory of this greedy magician.

The Passing of Peregrinus

Second Century A.D.

Secular Journalists exposing Christian charlatans: A modern phenomenon? Not really. Lucian wrote satire in the mid-second century, and he loved to pick on Christians—especially when he smelled a fraud. In one of his works, he reports on a huckster named Peregrinus, a murderer and child molester who fled to Palestine and got involved with the Christians.

“In a trice he made them all look like children; for he was prophet, cult leader, head of the synagogue, and everything, all by himself. He interpreted and explained some of their books and even composed many, and they revered him as a god, made use of him as a lawgiver, and set him down as a protector, next after that other, to be sure, whom they still worship, the man who was crucified in Palestine because he introduced this new cult into the world.”

Peregrinus was imprisoned for his involvement with the Christians. This, Lucian says, was an “asset to his future career” as a charlatan. Christians traveled from all around to visit him; some tried to rescue him.

“Much money came to him from them by reason of his imprisonment, and he procured not a little revenue from it.” Lucian comments on the strange beliefs of “these poor wretches,” the Christians, who “despise all things indiscriminately and consider them common property, receiving such doctrines traditionally without any definite evidence. So if any charlatan or trickster, able to profit by occasions, comes among them, he quickly acquires sudden wealth by imposing upon simple folk.”

Released from prison, Peregrinus wandered for a while, “possessing an ample source of funds in the Christians, through whose ministrations he lived in unalloyed prosperity.” But his defrauding of the Christians would not last forever. Lucian says he “transgressed in some way even against them (he was seen, I think, eating some of the food that is forbidden them) they no longer accepted him.”

Lucian’s tale continues, culminating in Peregrinus’s spectacular suicide. Before a crowd of Greeks at the Olympic festival, he jumped into a burning pyre. “So ended that poor wretch [Peregrinus], a man who (to put it briefly) never fixed his gaze on the verities, but always did and said everything with a view to glory and the praise of the multitude.”

Of course Lucian treated this story in his classic satirical fashion; he may have overstated the facts. A fraud like Peregrinus could never dupe Christians so thoroughly… could he?

(900s)

The Tigress of Rome

Marrying for money was a way of life for Marozia, the woman who dominated the papacy during the 10th century. When barely beyond puberty, she was already the mistress of Pope Sergius, bearing him a son. When Sergius died, Marozia embarked upon a series of marriages to successively wealthier husbands, enriching herself with their estates upon their untimely deaths. Using her beauty and promiscuity, she continued to control the papacy, eventually winning that office for the illegitimate son she had born to Sergius.

Ultimately, Marozia married one rich man too many. Her final husband Hugh of Province, tried to kill Alberic, her son from a previous marriage. Alberic retaliated and not only drove Hugh from the city but also imprisoned his mother—still young, beautiful and very rich—in the lowest dungeon of her own castle, where she died.

(1400s)

The Poison Pope

When the incredibly wealthy Rodrigo Borgia was named Pope Alexander VI in 1492, some accused him of buying the office. But direct bribery was hardly necessary, since his vast fortune already wielded great power throughout Europe.

Rodrigo started out as a law student in Bologna. He was made a cardinal and sent on a highly successful mission to pacify the province of Ancona. The grateful Pope had then made him Vice-Chancellor of the Church and Commander-in-Chief of the papal armies. Rodrigo used this position to amass his fortune, and the influence that went with it. (It was Rodrigo Borgia who masterminded the marriage between Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain.)

As Pope Alexander, he continued to peddle his influence. He dished out favors especially to his own family (he had ten illegitimate children by four mistresses): His son Cesare became a cardinal at age 18; daughter Lucrezia married Giovanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro, in an elaborate Vatican ceremony; son Juan inherited the Duchy of Gandia.

Utterly unscrupulous, Alexander used every device imaginable to wield his power, including the “white powder” of the Borgia, a crude preparation of arsenic used to poison enemies. Yet he has been called the “luckiest of popes,” for he died a natural death—most unexpected for one of his moral character.

(1500s)

The Indulgence Huckster

Johann Tetzel was a monk with a mission. He was to oversee the sale of indulgences—promises of divine forgiveness for the living and deceased loved ones—in the German regions of Madgeburg and Halberstadt. The revenue from the sales would finance a new holy war against the Turks in Germany, solve the personal financial problems of young Albert of Brandenburg, and provide Pope Leo X with cash to build the new basilica of St. Peter’s in Rome. Leo also wanted money to fight the Urbino war, transform the Vatican into a work of art, and meet the incidental expenses of a court four times as big as the emperor’s.

Tetzel met these needs using the marvelous new printing press, whereby indulgence slips could be mass-produced and delivered door to door. This efficiency eliminated the need for long and costly journeys to sacred shrines. Success was further assured by Tetzel’s skill at reducing the highly complex doctrine on indulgences to a simple formula:

As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, The soul from purgatory springs.

The money poured in, but a few believers gave their little slips of paper to the 34-year-old doctor of theology at Wittenberg University, Martin Luther, seeking his comment on the validity of this way of salvation. His response: The 95 Theses.

Tetzel counter-attacked with his own theses. However, even Pope Leo had to agree that the doctrine of indulgences had been grossly oversimplified. Tetzel was castigated and sidelined as a force in the recruitment of ecclesiastical venture capital.

(1800s)

The Shady Benefactor

A major Philanthropist of the 19th century, Daniel Drew founded Drew Seminary and headed several religious committees in New York.

Yet these public acts of charity thinly veiled Drew’s lifelong pursuit of ill-gotten gain. In 1815 Drew, then chief drover of Ohio cattle herds, mixed salt with the feed and did not allow the cattle to drink water for three days. Upon arrival at Henry Astor’s station the cows drank their fill, and then were weighed. “That’s the finest-looking herd of cattle I’ve seen,” remarked Mr. Astor. Drew collected and departed.

Years of shady dealings made Drew a tycoon. In 1867 he, with Jay Gould and James Fiske, bilked Cornelius Vanderbilt out of $7 million. Drew controlled the Erie Railroad, which Vanderbilt craved to add to his New York Central line. As Vanderbilt snapped up huge chunks of Erie stock, Drew again “watered stock” by printing thousands of extra shares on a small press. The value of Erie stock had reached $57 million when a broker noticed that the certificates smeared easily—Drew was printing stock so fast the ink was still wet! The market crashed, Vanderbilt lost millions.

Drew went on to net about $20 million in an 1869 attempt to corner the gold market. However, former “partners” Fiske and Gould tricked him out of part of his fortune; soon after, in 1873, a selling panic ruined his empire. By 1876 Daniel Drew was bankrupt.

(1900s)

The Revivalist’s Husband

Bebe Harrison Patten preached a great revival service, much like her mentor, Aimee Semple McPherson. Bebe’s husband, Carl Thomas Patten, took up the collections, his money-raising talks often lasting longer than Bebe’s sermons.

After ten years on the revivalist circuit, the Pattens moved to a rundown district of Oakland, California. With the help of heavy advertising, the small church overflowed until only the 8,000-seat Oakland Arena could hold the crowds.

Collections became profitable and the Pattens purchased the City Club for more than $250,000. They then opened a religious school, falsely claiming that it was accredited by the University of California. Carl Patten also announced bogus projects and is said to have raised $10,000 in 30 minutes to build a ten-story tabernacle. Heavy donations were also accepted for a theological seminary, a hospital, a refuge for retired evangelists, and an orphanage. The programs never materialized, yet payments poured in.

The Pattens lived in luxury with donations approaching a million dollars by 1947, but that summer they made the mistake of selling the church, school, and grounds to the Loyal Order of the Moose for $450,000. Members grumbled, support vanished, and the district attorney investigated. After a four-and-a-half-month trial, the jury found Patten guilty of five counts of grand theft. He received a sentence of five to fifty years in prison. Paroled after three years under the condition that he never again take up a collection, Carl Patten returned to Bebe’s small evangelistic operation until his death in 1959.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.

This 20th-century German scholar urged Christians to follow Christ whatever the cost. Returning to his native Germany from Union Seminary in New York, Bonhoeffer (1906–1945) dared to oppose Adolf Hitler. He was arrested, imprisoned, and executed for his association with a plot to murder Hitler. This section a commentary on Matthew 6:19–24, comes from his most famous work, The Cost of Discipleship.

Jesus does not forbid the possession of property in itself. He was man, he ate and drank like his disciples, and thereby sanctified the good things of life. These necessities, which are consumed in use and which meet the legitimate requirements of the body, are to be used by the disciples with thankfulness. Earthly goods are given to be used, not to be collected. In the wilderness God gave Israel the manna every day, and they had no need to worry about food and drink. Indeed, if they kept any of the manna over until the next day, it went bad. In the same way, the disciple must receive his portion from God every day. If he stores it up as a permanent possession, he spoils not only the gift, but himself as well, for he sets his heart on accumulated wealth, and makes it a barrier between himself and God. Where our treasure is, there is our trust, our security, our consolation and our God. Hoarding is idolatry.

But where are we to draw the line between legitimate use and unlawful accumulation? Let us reverse the word of Jesus and our question is answered: “Where thy heart is, there shall thy treasure be also.” Our treasure may of course be small and inconspicuous, but its size is immaterial; it all depends on the heart, on ourselves. And if we ask how we are to know where our hearts are, the answer is just as simple—everything which hinders us from loving God above all things and acts as a barrier between ourselves and our obedience to Jesus is our treasure, and the place where our heart is.

If our hearts are entirely given to God, it is clear that we cannot serve two masters; it is simply impossible—at any rate all the time we are following Christ. It would of course be tempting to show how far we had advanced in the Christian life by endeavoring to serve two masters and giving each his due, both God and Mammon. Why should we not be happy children of the world just because we are the children of God? After all, do we not rejoice in his good gifts, and do we not receive our treasures as a blessing from him? No, God and the world, God and its goods are incompatible, because the world and its goods make a bid for our hearts, and only when they have won them do they become what they really are. That is how they thrive, and that is why they are incompatible with allegiance to God. Our hearts have room only for one all-embracing devotion, and we can only cleave to one Lord. Every competitor to that devotion must be hated. As Jesus says, there is no alternative either we love God or we hate him.

Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History magazine.Click here for reprint information on Christian History.