Next month, we’ll experience the annual ritual of “falling back.” Daylight Saving Time ends, and many of us will wake up feeling like we’ve been gifted an extra hour. Some of you may already be planning how to spend this bonus time—extra sleep, catching up on projects, maybe just enjoying a longer Sunday morning coffee.
But here’s what fascinates me about this “extra” hour. We act like the universe actually expanded time for us, like that day will have 25 hours instead of 24. We feel richer, more generous with our minutes. Of course, we’re just getting back the hour we “lost” in spring. Nothing’s really changed, except our perception.
This perception shift matters more than we realize. Many of us live our entire financial lives this way. We feel generous when we think we have extra, stingy when supplies seem short. We operate from a scarcity mindset that constantly calculates whether there’s enough. Will there be enough money for bills, enough energy for commitments, enough patience for difficult people.
But what if abundance isn’t about how much we have but how we see what we have? What if God’s economy transforms scarcity into sufficiency not by addition but by multiplication through sharing?
Our Tomorrow First series has been exploring this transformation through trust. Abraham discovered God provides even in impossible moments. Jacob found God’s presence in uncomfortable places. Last week, Moses learned God hears our cries and calls us forward despite our inadequacies.
Each individual encounter prepared us for today’s communal lesson: the same God who provided Abraham’s ram, who met Jacob at his stone pillow, and who called Moses from the burning bush now provides daily bread for an entire nation. Notice the progression—from personal faith to collective trust. On this World Communion Sunday, when Christians worldwide share bread and cup, we discover God’s provision flows best through community.
Today’s scripture from Exodus 16 demonstrates this communal provision in a powerful way. Just six weeks after their dramatic escape from Egypt, the Israelites—likely hundreds of thousands of people—found themselves in the Desert of Sin between Elim and Mount Sinai. Former slaves who’d known only scarcity under Pharaoh panicked when food ran out. Their complaint reveals selective memory: “[In Egypt] we could sit by the pots cooking meat and eat our fill of bread.” They romanticized bondage because at least slavery came with predictable meals.
God’s response revolutionizes economics. Instead of punishment for complaining, divine generosity appears: “I’m going to make bread rain down from the sky.” The Hebrew word for “rain” connects to God providing rain for crops—creation itself bending toward abundance. Yet the instructions challenge human instinct: gather daily, no hoarding allowed. On the sixth day, collect double for Sabbath rest. Even in survival mode, rest remains sacred.
The passage’s climax defies natural law: “the ones who had collected more had nothing left over, and the ones who had collected less had no shortage.” This isn’t poetry but lived reality—when the community shared, everyone had exactly one omer, about two quarts. Whether you gathered much or little, you ended with precisely what you needed.
Paul later cites this miracle in 2 Corinthians 8:15 when teaching generous giving. The manna story establishes God’s economy: abundance flows through sharing, scarcity comes from hoarding. In divine mathematics, multiplication happens through division.
This ancient principle has become real for Nicole and I as we wrestled with our Tomorrow First commitment. Every night for almost twenty years, we’ve prayed Wesley’s Covenant Prayer together. It begins: “I am no longer my own, but thine.” The prayer continues: “Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt; put me to doing, put me to suffering; let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee.” These words ask us to surrender control, to trust God’s plan even when it requires sacrifice.
When we pray “let me have all things, let me have nothing,” we’re acknowledging our security comes not from our bank account but from God’s faithfulness. For almost twenty years, these words have shaped our marriage and ministry. Our Tomorrow First campaign has made these words both timely and practical.
As we considered our financial commitment to Tomorrow First, we included John and Anne, in our conversation. We talked about what following Jesus means for our family’s resources, about the difference between wants and needs, about finding joy through generosity.
After much prayer, we have committed $36,000 to Tomorrow First—$1,000 each month for three years. This is above and beyond our regular giving because both ongoing ministry and this capital investment matter. For us, this means postponing the vehicle replacement we’d planned for 2026. It means keeping our walk-behind mower instead of upgrading to a riding mower. It means simpler family vacations.
These aren’t hardships but choices. Every sacrifice represents an investment in decades of ministry in the years ahead. When I think about families worshiping comfortably for generations, children encountering Jesus without distraction, youth exploring faith in welcoming spaces—every adjustment becomes a privilege. We’re discovering what the Israelites learned: when we stop hoarding and start sharing, anxiety transforms into peace.
Our Methodist tradition has always understood this principle. John Wesley, our founder, lived it boldly. Despite earning a substantial amount every year from his writings, Wesley maintained the same modest lifestyle year after year, giving away all the increases of his income. His motto—“gain all you can, save all you can, give all you can”—emphasized the giving most of all.
Wesley called money “an excellent gift of God” when used properly. Like manna that spoiled when hoarded, wealth kept selfishly corrupts souls. But wealth shared becomes medicine for society’s wounds. Early Methodist records describe Wesley emptying his pockets for the poor, often arriving at appointments without coach fare because he’d given everything away.
Wesley insisted there’s no personal holiness without social holiness—no private faith without public love. Manna proved it: your daily bread depended on your neighbor’s integrity, and theirs on yours. Hoarding broke the system. Sharing sustained it. This is why generosity isn’t optional for spiritual growth—it’s evidence of it. In God’s economy, you can’t be spiritually healthy while your neighbor goes hungry.
This theology of abundance meets concrete reality in our $2.7 million infrastructure project—not a want but a need. Our heating and cooling system, much of it installed in 1968, is operating well beyond its intended lifespan. The obsolete controller requires midnight reboots and sometimes resets randomly, causing the building to overheat or overcool when empty, wasting precious resources.
Our current two-pipe design forces us to choose between heating or cooling for the entire building. Switching takes at least a full week to avoid cracking pipes. The chiller noise in Hess Hall drowns out meetings. If this system fails catastrophically, we could wait four to six months for equipment—months without proper climate control.
But this isn’t about preserving a building or an institution. It’s about participating in God’s kingdom work. When worship happens without physical distraction, faith forms deeply. When children learn about faith comfortably, they hear God’s voice clearly. When youth gather in functional spaces to experience God’s, discipleship flourishes naturally.
The response to Tomorrow First has been incredible. Across our congregation, households are stepping forward with three-year commitments that reflect real sacrifice and real faith. Young families, retirees, single adults—everyone finding their way to participate. Some stretch to give $20 monthly, others give what would seem impossible. What moves me most is the spirit behind every gift—joy replacing anxiety, generosity overcoming fear. We’re witnessing manna economics in real time.
The good news is that we serve a God who responds to bitter complaints with bread from heaven. The Creator of galaxies cares about your grocery bill. The one who spoke light into darkness sees you checking your bank balance again. This God holds the universe together and holds you in every anxious moment.
In God’s economy, different principles govern than those on Wall Street. Divine mathematics means five loaves feed five thousand, widow’s mites outweigh wealthy donations, and shared resources multiply rather than diminish. The manna miracle reveals God’s character: abundant, generous, trustworthy. Every morning for forty years, bread appeared. Not once did God forget.
Jesus embodies this generous God perfectly. He who owned everything became poor so we might become rich. He multiplied bread, turned water to wine, gave his very life—extravagant generosity flowing from inexhaustible love. Through Christ, we’re freed from the tyranny of scarcity. No longer must we grasp and hoard, fearing there won’t be enough. The cross proclaims the ultimate enough—grace sufficient for every need.
Right now, God transforms communities through generous people. The manna miracle continues wherever people trust God’s abundance enough to share. Grace makes generous people, and generous people create glimpses of God’s kingdom where everyone has enough.
Many of you received a Tomorrow First commitment card in the mail this week. If you didn’t, or need another, we’ll have cards available at both services next Sunday. Here’s what I’m asking: take this week to pray. Not “Lord, what can I afford?” but “Lord, what do you want to do through me?” That shift from calculation to calling changes everything.
Remember: God calls us to equal sacrifice, not equal gifts. A monthly $30 that means eating out less represents the same faithfulness as a $50,000 gift from investments. One person’s $500 stretched from Social Security might reflect greater sacrifice than another’s $10,000 from surplus. God sees the heart, not the decimal point.
Some will give monthly, others will make single gifts—from RMDs, appreciated stock, or adjusted budgets. Every method honors God when it flows from prayerful listening. Bring your commitment card back next Sunday. We need everyone’s response because this is about our whole community choosing together.
Nicole and I invite you to join us in this journey of trust. This table before us proclaims God’s economy: broken bread becomes feast, poured cup becomes salvation, small offerings become kingdom abundance. This week, pray: “Lord, what do you want to do through me?” Next Sunday, respond. Together, we discover what happens when a community chooses abundance over scarcity.
Will you pray with me?
Generous God, free us from scarcity’s grip. Fill our open hands with trust. Multiply our sharing until all experience your abundance through our community’s love. 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.
Rev. Andrew Conard 