On Scarcity, Abundance, and the Life We Share

A Reflection on Church Life Lived Abundantly

I have been thinking this week about scarcity. About how easily we fall into the quiet belief that there is not enough. Not enough time, not enough people, not enough energy, not enough faith. And if we are honest, not enough of God to go around.

If that still feels a bit abstract, let me make it more concrete.

It seems to me that the Church often operates with two instincts when it looks out at the world. In one, we see ourselves as a dwindling remnant, faithful perhaps, but increasingly out of step with a secularizing culture. In that mindset, we begin to imagine that what we have is rare and fading. In another, we assume that even within the Church there is only so much to go around. If someone comes here, they must have left somewhere else. If one ministry grows, another must shrink. If one expression of worship is received with joy, another must be diminished.

Underneath all of this is the same quiet assumption. That the Kingdom of God operates on scarcity.

And then there are the more personal versions of this. We begin to believe that healing is limited, that consolation is rationed, that joy must be unevenly distributed. We act as though God’s grace were a finite resource. If I have received blessing, someone else must have missed theirs. If I have found peace, someone else must be left wanting.

But the witness of Scripture resists this logic at every turn.

In Acts of the Apostles we are given that simple and startling picture of the early Church. All who believed were together and had all things in common. This is not just about possessions. It is about a shared life rooted in trust that God provides enough.

St. Paul writes that there are varieties of gifts but the same Spirit, and that to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. The Body of Christ is not a competition of parts but a communion of gifts. Each one necessary. Each one is given. Each one belongs to the whole. The eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of you. (1 Corinthians 12)

And in the Epistle to the Ephesians, we are reminded that Christ has given gifts to his people to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ. Not some of what we need. All of it. Given.

Even in moments that seem defined by limitation, God reveals abundance. Five loaves and two fish become more than enough (Luke 9). A jar of meal does not run out, nor does the jug of oil fail (1 Kings 17). My cup overflows, the psalmist says (Psalm 23), not because circumstances are perfect, but because God’s provision exceeds expectation.

The economy of the Kingdom is not one of scarcity. It is one of gift.

But here is where we must be careful. God’s abundance is not always where we expect to find it. It is not a simple cause-and-effect relationship. It is not a transaction. It is certainly not a Santa Claus version of faith where we behave rightly and receive exactly what we had in mind.

To live in God’s abundance requires something deeper than optimism. It requires submission. It requires that we ask a different question.

Not where do I want God to bless me. Not the way I would design it. Not even the way I can most clearly see it unfolding according to my own abilities and vision. But where is God already raising something to life, and how can I be faithful to that.

How can I uplift what God is doing? How can I make my ministry more welcoming so that all may offer their gifts? How may I make my Bible study deeper, so that people might encounter the power and liberation of Scripture again? How can I make my sermons more connective, drawing together the story of Scripture, the story of the world around us, and the story of individual discipleship? How can we, together, learn to see what God is doing and submit our lives to it, rather than waiting for the moment when we finally get our way, according to our own vision?

If we are to practice resurrection in these fifty days of Easter, that is the question before us. Where is God bringing new life? Where is God placing energy? Where is the Spirit stirring, even if it is not in the places we would have chosen?

Anyone who has worshiped with us recently knows that Christ Church is one of those places where the spirit is stirring. Not perfectly. Not always elegantly. Sometimes a bit awkwardly. And yet, unmistakably alive.

We are learning what it means to be a community that is broad in its welcome, high in its fidelity to common prayer and common life, and deep in its commitment not simply to appeal to the newcomer, but to raise the collective witness and faith of all of us. From those just beginning to explore the faith to those who have walked this road for decades.

That kind of life together does not emerge from scarcity. It emerges from trust. Trust that God is doing something here. Trust that there is enough grace for each person. Enough room at the altar. Enough depth in the tradition. Enough work for us all to give of our time and talent. Enough possibility in the future God is already bringing into being.

So what might it mean for us to take the early Church's practice of holding everything in common seriously?

It might mean believing that what God is doing among us is not fragile or fleeting, but rooted and rising again. It might mean loosening our grip on what we think the Church should look like, and paying closer attention to what God is actually raising up in our corner of the vineyard. It might mean recognizing that abundance does not always look like ease or efficiency, but often like growth that stretches us to see what God is up to in the places he has called us to go ahead of him (Luke 10).

“Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20).

Abundantly far more.

Not always where we expect it. Not always in the form we would choose. But always, in Christ, more than enough…

Pax et Bonum!

Fr. Ben