Fields of Gold

Tyndale House Publishers

Chapter One

The western sky was growing dark. In a fewmoments, the entire Oklahoma panhandlewould be engulfed in the swirling blackness.Jeremiah Clary began the familiar task ofrolling up wet rags and stuffing them in thecracks around the door to keep the dust out.This particular afternoon, the churningwinds were carrying tons of airborne topsoilin his direction. Even the slightest openingaround a window would result in a solidlayer of dirt on every surface in the house.

The Clary family had been lured to theSouthern Plains by the promise of bountifulcrops and endless, fertile fields of wheat. Andfor a while, that's exactly what they found.But throughout the 1920s, thousands ofambitious immigrants plowed up vast portionsof virgin grasslands to plant their fortunes.The Great Depression drove evenmore settlers westward, and they quicklyexploited the organic gold mine of America'sheartland. Then in 1931, the rains stopped.More than 100 million acres of hopes anddreams stood drying in the baking sun. Butthat was just a prelude to the real devastation.With nothing to hold the topsoil, theonce benign winds of the western plainsscooped up the loose earth one grain at atime and turned it into a giant sandblaster.

To make matters worse, the relentless sunradiated the exposed soil, turning the entireregion into a vast clay oven that whipped thewindstorms into an even greater fury. Thisunusual combination of earth, wind, and firebore a resemblance to an apocalyptic wrath.Clouds of dirt rose miles into the sky, levelingeverything in sight. Although it had taken athousand years for an inch of rich topsoil toaccumulate, it was blown away in a matter ofminutes. In the wake of such a storm, fieldsof shoulder-high wheat were stripped bare.Tons of soil accumulated in drifts againstfence lines, buildings, and dying livestock.

The drought would endure for a decade.As much as eight tons of soil per acre werelost every year. And all along, farmers likeJeremiah Clary kept thinking that surely therains would return soon.

In a circular area touching five states,more than 850 million tons of land werelost. A reporter passing through the regiondescribed it as a giant "dust bowl." Thename stuck.

Jeremiah lit an oil lamp as the wholeClary house vibrated under the onslaughtof the black blizzard. Somewhere in thestratosphere above him was thirty-fourdollars worth of Turkey Red, a special blendof seed he had sown the week before. It washeaded in the direction of Missouri now.

Every time he sowed his fields, Jeremiahspent a month's salary in seed. And after fivestraight years with no income, it was gettingto the point where he couldn't afford to keepup the routine much longer. He consideredhis odds of being wiped out again if he musteredthe courage to replant.

Like countless farmers in his shoes,Jeremiah was battling an unusual form ofanxiety. During the normal growing seasonsof the wet years, it would have seemedsenseless to stockpile seed during plantingtime. But under the strain of the times,many farmers were developing a psychologicalaversion to sowing. What if anotherstorm comes and blows away my investment... what if all my efforts get wiped out again... what if ... what if ...? Jeremiah began tofeel a strange attachment to his remainingprecious bags of seed. He knew they wereworthless sitting in the barn. But Jeremiahcouldn't help feeling that he was better offkeeping them there, protecting them fromthe "what ifs" that blew across the plainswith increasing predictability.

A few weeks passed, and some of theother farmers began to plant again. Thereweren't many days left before the windowfor germination would slam shut andanother hot summer would be underway.Jeremiah almost trembled with indecision.If he didn't plant soon, he'd miss his chancefor even a meager crop. And even a meagercrop would at least replenish his stores ofseed. But if he did plant, he could end uplosing everything. He went back to the barnto check his seed one more time. The ironywas overwhelming.

Jeremiah Clary was not a greedy man. Butunder the mounting weight of uncertainty,he was slowly becoming irrational.

ABANDONING THE FIELDSOF GENEROSITY

You and I live in a dust bowl. Every day, webrace ourselves for the impending devastationthat could sweep across the financiallandscape and wipe out our stores of seed.In our world, the "what ifs" manifest themselvesin circumstances such as diminishingretirement accounts, unexpected expenses,and worldwide economic turmoil. We stuffwet rags around the cracks in our portfoliosand hope for the best.

In the midst of it all, we have a crop toproduce-a spiritual crop. Like JeremiahClary, we have a limited supply of financialseed for sowing in God's kingdom. Perhapsyou once dreamed of sowing fertile fieldsof generosity. But reality has taught you tobe more cautious. What if I give away toomuch? What if there's not enough left for me?What if ...?

We're not greedy, but we are a lot likeJeremiah Clary. Under the mounting weightof uncertainty, it's easy to slowly becomeirrational about our possessions. We losesight of who really owns them. We fail tograsp how we should be sowing them forGod's kingdom. And we get confused aboutwhat we should really fear regarding ourfinances in this life-like facing eternity havingsown only a few handfuls of our personalwealth for God's kingdom.

We're not alone. Millions of Christiansaround the world are frozen in their financialtracks by this anxiety. In all likelihood, theymean to be more generous. But somewherealong the way, uncertainty creeps in and theysettle for the status quo: a watered-downversion of what they could be sowing forGod's kingdom-if it weren't for their fears.

In the United States, just one third to onehalf of all church members give any financialsupport to their churches. Any. And of thepeople who do give something, only 3 to 5percent give a tenth of their incomes.

Meanwhile, the wealth accumulated bychurchgoing people has reached recordlevels. And despite unprecedented opportunitiesfor global ministry, American Christiansgive proportionately less today tothe church than we did during the GreatDepression.

Even those who do give are often tentativeand sheepish about it. They respond whenthe offering plate is passed or when the annualpledge cards are due. But there's not exactlya burning passion to leverage everythingwithin their grasp to achieve God-sized missions.Too often, Christians take a posturethat's reactive rather than proactive. Peoplegive reluctantly or to assuage their guilt.

For the most part, the church hasresponded by simply increasing the pressureon its members. Church leaders create cleverfundraising campaigns, send out elaboratemailers, put big thermometers in front of thesanctuaries, and lock the doors until the goalis met. But beneath all this scrambling formarket share, I think there's a root problemthe church has mostly missed.

For many Christians, the problem isn'tthat the church lacks brand awareness. Noris the problem that Christians are too greedyto give. For a lot of people, I think the lackof generosity among Christians can beattributed to plain old fear.

AFRAID TO SOW

Fear has always been one of the principalenemies of a growing faith. It has a way ofclouding our thinking and obscuring thefacts. You may know precisely how Godwould like you to handle your finances, butfear has the potential to freeze you in yourtracks or send you down another path.

It's...