From Scarcity to Abundance: A Faith Journey

Labor Day weekend—when half of McPherson still grills outside while the other half has already switched to soup season. Have you seen anyone put both a huge fan and a space heater in the garage “just in case.” We Kansans know how to prepare for anything, don’t we? We live ready for both scorching heat and sudden cold snaps, sometimes in the same week.

This in-between feeling touches more than just weather. Think about those threshold moments we all know: helping a child pack for college, starting a new job after years in the old one, or sitting in a doctor’s office waiting for test results. These waiting spaces between “what was” and “what’s next” can feel unsettling. Yet I’ve noticed something—God often does the best work right there in the in-between.

Today we conclude our “New Eyes” series with John’s stunning vision of God making all things new. For those joining us for the first time, welcome—you’ve arrived just in time for the best part. This isn’t about throwing away everything familiar but about watching God transform what we already love into something even more amazing.

Over these weeks, we’ve walked through Revelation’s wild and wonderful visions, learning to see with new eyes. We began with Jesus walking among ordinary churches—just like ours—reminding us that Christ is present in our everyday struggles. We glimpsed God’s throne room and learned to see from heaven’s perspective. Two weeks ago, that beautiful vision of people from every nation worshiping together showed us what real community looks like. Last week challenged us to recognize the difference between God’s authentic work and flashy counterfeits—so important as we make decisions about our future.

Today, everything comes together. The same throne we saw earlier now has a river flowing from it. The Lamb who conquered through love now lights up the whole city. That diverse crowd from every nation? They’re finding healing from one miraculous tree. John saved the best for last—showing us that God’s ultimate plan isn’t destruction but restoration, not escape but transformation.

Picture a church in a town just like ours—county seat, agricultural roots, watching young families move away for opportunities elsewhere. Main Street has more empty storefronts each year. The congregation that once overflowed now rattles around in a building designed for far more. At their annual meeting, someone suggests the obvious: “Maybe it’s time to close. We can’t afford the maintenance. We’re tired.”

But then someone else—maybe a farmer who understands that seeds die before they grow—says something crazy: “What if we became the river our county needs?”

So they try it. The fellowship hall becomes an after-school haven for kids whose parents work late. Empty Sunday school rooms house entrepreneurs launching businesses. Their commercial kitchen—barely used anymore—starts teaching young families how to can and preserve food. They host a farmers’ market that brings life back downtown every Saturday morning.

At first, the changes felt risky. Board members worried about wear on the carpet, higher utility bills, liability insurance. Some longtime members grumbled about “their” space being invaded. But then something shifted. Those kids doing homework started bringing their parents to events. The entrepreneurs joined committees, bringing fresh energy. The canning classes became fellowship opportunities where generations shared wisdom and stories.

Here’s what happened: Those retired teachers found new purpose tutoring struggling students. The entrepreneurs they housed started hiring locals. Other small churches without buildings began holding special services in their space. The whole county started flowing through their doors—not necessarily for Sunday worship, but for life, hope, and community.

That church learned something profound. When we stop trying to preserve what we have and start letting God’s abundance flow through us, dying things come alive. Their membership stayed small, but their impact spread like irrigation water across dry prairie land. They discovered that God’s economy doesn’t divide—it multiplies.

This story of transformation is exactly what John sees in today’s scripture. Writing from exile on Patmos—a barren island where Rome dumped troublemakers—John sends this vision to struggling churches. These weren’t megachurches but small gatherings in homes and shops, facing real persecution and economic hardship. Sound familiar? Churches wondering about their future?

But John doesn’t end Revelation with destruction. After all the cosmic battles and judgments, he shows God’s real goal: making everything new. Notice the imagery bursting with abundance—not a trickle but a crystal-clear river flowing right from God’s throne. Not one fruit tree but the tree of life producing twelve different kinds of fruit, a fresh crop every single month. And those leaves? They heal entire nations.

Think about what this meant to John’s original readers, many of whom knew food scarcity and political oppression. A tree that never fails to produce, water that never runs dry, healing available to all people—not just the wealthy or well-connected. This vision directly challenged Rome’s economy of scarcity and control.

John deliberately echoes the Garden of Eden, but this isn’t just paradise restored—it’s paradise upgraded. The tree that humanity lost in Genesis returns supercharged. God announces, “To anyone who’s thirsty, I’ll freely give water from the spring of life.” No payment plan. No credit check. No worthiness test. Just come and drink.

This river flows down the main street—everyone has access. The twelve fruits remind us of Israel’s twelve tribes, but also twelve months of the year. God’s provision never takes a vacation, never has an off-season. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, the tree bears fruit for you.

For us Methodists, this passage connects directly to how we understand God’s transforming grace. Our founder, John Wesley, discovered something revolutionary about money and faith. As his income increased from his writing and preaching, he kept living on the same amount and gave away everything else. In some years, historical records show he gave away over 90% of his earnings.

But here’s what mattered to Wesley: he wasn’t giving out of obligation or guilt. He’d experienced God as an endless fountain of grace, and giving became his way of keeping that grace flowing. He taught that we should “gain all we can, save all we can, and give all we can”—not to build bigger barns but to become rivers of blessing.

Wesley called this growth in generosity part of our spiritual transformation. Just as the New Jerusalem doesn’t need a temple because God fills everything, mature faith doesn’t keep generosity in a separate box marked “charity.” It flows through everything—how we spend time, share talents, open our homes, and yes, give money. When we truly grasp that God “freely gives,” we’re set free from the fear that giving means losing.

This understanding shaped early Methodist communities. They created lending funds for the poor, started schools, provided medical care—all flowing from their experience of God’s abundance. They discovered that hoarding grace makes it stagnant, but sharing it creates fresh streams of blessing.

This ancient vision speaks directly to modern anxieties. Consider financial worry—that knot in your stomach when bills arrive. Maybe you’re calculating college costs, medical expenses, or wondering if retirement savings will last. We compare our reality to social media’s highlight reels and feel inadequate. But notice: God’s river flows continuously, not in occasional floods. The monthly fruit suggests steady, reliable provision—not lottery winnings but daily bread.

It’s not hard to feel like we’re drowning in messages about needing more. Every ad insists happiness requires the latest upgrade. Yet John’s vision reveals contentment’s true source—drinking freely from God’s spring satisfies in ways no purchase can match. The holy city needs no mall because God’s presence fulfills every real need.

Third, many achieve financial success only to ask, “Now what?” The promotion came, the business succeeded, the investments grew—but emptiness remains. Revelation answers: we’re designed to be channels, not reservoirs. Those healing leaves remind us that our resources exist for restoration. Whether you’re stretching minimum wage or managing wealth, the question remains: will you let God’s abundance flow through you?

Imagine a friend who recently shared with you how their perspective on giving changed. “I used to give from my surplus,” they say, “carefully calculating what I could ‘afford’ to share. Then I started giving first, trusting God with the rest. Strangely, I’ve never lacked what I needed, and I’ve discovered joy I didn’t know existed.”

The good news is that God’s very nature overflows with generous abundance, making scarcity thinking incompatible with kingdom living. From creation’s explosive diversity to manna appearing daily in the wilderness, from oil jars that wouldn’t empty to baskets of bread fragments after thousands ate—God consistently demonstrates that divine math multiplies rather than subtracts. The ultimate expression? God gave Jesus himself, holding nothing back.

Christ embodies this extravagant generosity. He touched lepers, ate with outcasts, and poured out his life like wine at a wedding feast that never ends. The gospel liberates us from anxiety’s grip, from the fear that giving means losing, from the lie that security comes through hoarding. In God’s economy, rivers flow freely, trees fruit monthly, and everyone who thirsts receives water as a gift—no payment required, no credit check needed.

Generosity becomes not obligation but participation in God’s joyful work. When we give—whether from abundance or poverty—we align with the universe’s fundamental reality: life flows. This truth speaks whether you’re tithing from plenty or sharing from scarcity like the widow’s mite. God’s abundance encompasses more than money; it includes purpose that outlasts paychecks, community richer than portfolios, and joy no market crash can steal. This good news invites us beyond mere charity to become living streams through which God’s healing flows to thirsty souls around us.

God’s river is flowing and here’s a few ways we can become channels this week:

Each morning, name five specific gifts in your life. Start with breath and heartbeat, then notice the particular blessings around you. This simple practice rewires our brains from scarcity to abundance.

Look at your spending and find one place to create margin for generosity. Skip one convenience to bless someone else. Small streams create mighty rivers.

Share your presence generously. Visit someone lonely, teach someone your skill, volunteer an hour somewhere. Time and attention are precious gifts.

Try “first fruits” giving—set aside your offering first, before other expenses. Trust the river to keep flowing. Start small if needed; the amount matters less than the practice.

Friends, that county seat church discovered what John’s vision promises—when we open our hands, God opens rivers. As we commission our Affinity Team Messengers today for our capital campaign, we’re not just raising money. We’re choosing to become the river our community needs. These messengers will help us see how God wants to transform our resources into healing streams for McPherson and beyond.

When we stop protecting what we have and start sharing what God provides, trickles become floods of healing. The New Jerusalem isn’t just future hope—it breaks into the present wherever God’s people choose generosity over scarcity, flowing over hoarding, trust over fear.

This week, whether you’re managing abundance or stretching pennies, remember: you’re not guarding scarce resources but channeling infinite supply. God is making all things new, and our ordinary generosity participates in extraordinary transformation. The river is flowing through McPherson—will you let it flow through you?

Will you pray with me?

God, you freely give living water. Transform our scarcity fears into generous faith. Make us channels of your abundance this week. Amen.

In crafting today’s sermon, I employed AI assistants like Claude and Apple Intelligence, yet the ultimate responsibility for its content rests with me. These tools offered valuable perspectives, but the most influential sermon preparation hinges on biblical study, theological insight, personal reflection, and divine guidance. I see AI as a supportive aid to enrich the sermon process while ensuring my own voice in proclaiming the Word of God.