Have you ever ventured into your basement or storage area and confronted the graveyard of good intentions? Many of us have those boxes labeled “someday”—the craft supplies, the exercise equipment, the project kits we bought with such enthusiasm. Our family’s basement holds evidence of unfinished dreams, each one started with genuine excitement, each one set aside when life got complicated. We joke about these collections, but they represent something deeper: our human struggle to complete what we begin.
But here’s what October teaches us about God’s timing: harvest only comes from seeds someone actually planted. As farmers across Kansas worked to bring in their crops before the rain, they’re completing what began months ago. The combine in the field finishes what the planter started. This is kingdom economics—we inherit unfinished projects, incomplete dreams, and half-built visions from those who came before us, and we’re invited to complete them.
Today’s scripture shows us Solomon standing at this exact intersection, holding his father David’s detailed blueprints for a temple that existed only in imagination, about to transform vision into reality.
Last week as we began our “Called to More” series, we met young David in the fields—the overlooked eighth son whom God chose to become king. That shepherd boy grew into a warrior, then a king who accumulated vast resources and drew detailed temple blueprints. But David never built that temple. His calling was to envision and prepare.
Today we witness his son Solomon transforming those blueprints into stone and cedar reality. This progression reveals a crucial truth: being “Called to More” doesn’t always mean individual achievement. Sometimes it means laying foundations others will build upon. David gathered materials; Solomon constructed the temple. Both were essential. Both were called. Neither could have succeeded alone. God’s purposes often require multiple generations working together.
Sometimes the most profound generosity comes through collective courage to complete what others envisioned. Last February, our Leadership Board gathered with Kenneth Stewart from Horizons Stewardship to discuss infrastructure needs none of us wanted to face—failing HVAC systems that could cost $2.7 million to replace. The feasibility study suggested we could realistically raise $1.75 million together, with the remainder covered through investments or loans.
Here’s what happened over these months: 103 households wrestled with a simple but challenging question: “Lord, what do you want to do through me?” Not “what can I afford?” but “what do you want to do through me?” Each one calculated budgets, wondered about their own futures, faced the gap between what felt comfortable and what felt faithful. Some households committed thousands; others committed hundreds. The guidance wasn’t equal gifts but equal sacrifice—everyone stretching toward what faithfulness looked like for them.
Then, one commitment at a time, something remarkable unfolded. By this morning, those 103 households had pledged $1,757,986—exceeding the goal by nearly $8,000. That’s McPherson First saying “we trust God’s future here more than we trust our fears.”
Our scripture today takes us to ancient Israel around 950 BCE, where Solomon inherits both a kingdom at peace and his father’s unfulfilled architectural dream. The timing matters—this is Israel’s golden age, when the nation finally has resources and stability to build something permanent for God.
Solomon’s message to Hiram of Tyre reveals the economics of sacred generosity. Notice how he frames this massive undertaking: “I’m planning to build a temple for the name of the Lord my God”—not for his own glory but for God’s presence. This phrase “for the name” appears twice, emphasizing that true generosity always focuses beyond the giver. David couldn’t build during wartime because sometimes we must create stability before we can practice generosity. But Solomon recognizes his moment: “God has given me peace on every side.” Peace creates opportunity for generosity.
The collaboration with Hiram shows generosity creating unexpected community—Tyre provides cedar and expertise, Israel provides wheat and oil. This isn’t charity but partnership, resources flowing between nations for sacred purpose. Even pagan kings participate in building God’s house.
The dedication scene overwhelms with abundance. “Countless sheep and oxen”—the Hebrew suggests numbers beyond calculation. But notice something crucial: the entire assembly participates, from priests to elders to common people. Not everyone brought the same number of sheep. Not everyone gave equal amounts. But everyone stretched toward faithful participation. This is ancient Israel’s version of “not equal gifts but equal sacrifice”—each household offering what represented genuine generosity for them. Then God’s glory fills the temple so completely that priests cannot continue their duties. When humans give generously toward God’s purposes—each according to their means but all with sacrificial hearts—divine presence responds with overwhelming blessing that exceeds human capacity to receive it.
This lavish temple dedication challenges our careful, calculated giving patterns. John Wesley, Methodism’s founder, taught that everything we possess comes from God and belongs to God—we’re stewards, not owners. This radically transforms generosity from optional charity into faithful stewardship. Solomon didn’t generate temple resources independently but received them through David’s accumulation and Hiram’s partnership. We’re always recipients before we become givers.
Wesley himself embodied this truth, earning what would be $160,000 today but living on $28,000, giving away everything else. He discovered that money becomes a tool for God’s purposes, not a treasure to hoard. But here’s the deeper Methodist insight: generosity doesn’t just fund ministry—it transforms the giver. Wesley called this sanctification, the process by which we grow in holiness. When we give, we’re freed from money’s power over us.
Methodist theology emphasizes “means of grace”—ordinary channels through which God’s grace flows into human life. The temple became Israel’s primary means of grace, but only because people gave extravagantly to build it. Our giving today creates similar channels for divine grace.
These ancient principles speak directly into our contemporary struggles with money, meaning, and purpose. Consider how this scripture addresses three modern challenges we all face.
First, financial anxiety grips people across economic levels. We check retirement accounts obsessively, lose sleep over college costs, wonder if we’ll ever have “enough.” Solomon’s “countless” offerings remind us that when we align our resources with God’s purposes, the mathematical equations change. I think of those 103 households in our congregation who looked at their budgets, saw the impossible gap between what they had and what they pledged, and gave anyway. Imagine a local teacher who started tithing on their modest salary and discovered they somehow always had enough. Or perhaps, a farming family who maintained their giving during drought years found unexpected provision through community support. Generosity breaks anxiety’s grip not by increasing our assets but by shifting our focus from scarcity to purpose.
Second, our consumer culture promises happiness through accumulation, yet research consistently shows that beyond meeting basic needs, increased wealth doesn’t increase joy. Solomon had everything—wealth, power, wisdom—yet found his deepest meaning in giving it away for sacred purpose. The families who pledged to Tomorrow First didn’t do it because they had extra money lying around. They discovered what a retired couple who downsized to fund scholarships reports: more joy comes from investing in God’s future than from accumulating for our own. That young adult who chose nonprofit work over corporate salary finds fulfillment that higher-earning peers still seek.
Third, many people struggle with purpose beyond their careers. Solomon shows how generosity creates lasting legacy. The temple he funded outlasted his kingdom by centuries. When we give toward God’s work—whether funding HVAC systems that will serve ministry for decades ahead, supporting community food banks, or maintaining spaces where people encounter Christ—we’re investing in transformation that continues long after we’re gone. Those commitment cards you filled out write stories of faith we’ll never fully know but which ripple through generations of children in Sunday School, adults finding hope in life’s darkest seasons, and community members discovering they matter to God.
The good news is that God doesn’t need our money but invites us into the joy of generous participation. When Solomon gave toward the temple, he wasn’t convincing God to show up—God was already preparing to fill what generosity built. The cloud that overwhelmed the priests reveals how God responds to human generosity with divine abundance that exceeds our imagination.
This invitation flows from God’s own generous nature. Scripture consistently reveals a God who creates with abundance—speaking galaxies into existence, providing manna daily in the wilderness, multiplying loaves and fishes for hungry crowds. In Christ, we see this divine generosity reach its culmination. Jesus didn’t grasp at divine privilege but poured himself out completely for our salvation, transforming apparent loss into eternal gain. The cross becomes God’s ultimate statement about giving: nothing held back, everything offered, death becoming resurrection life.
When we practice generosity, we participate in this divine movement. We’re freed from the exhausting pursuit of “enough” because we discover that sharing creates rather than depletes joy. Our offerings—whether widow’s mites or wealthy gifts—join a river of generosity flowing through history. That dollar, that hour, that talent offered to God enters an economy where multiplication replaces subtraction. Like those 103 commitments becoming $1.76 million becoming transformed ministry for decades to come, what we give toward God’s purposes generates possibilities beyond our ability to calculate or even imagine.
This week, I invite you to take one concrete step toward generous living that fits your situation: If you’re new to giving, start small—even $5 weekly makes a difference when joined with others. Set up recurring online giving at mcphersonfirst.org/give to make generosity a spiritual discipline.
Consider the First Fruits Offering. Watch your mail this week for information about these special immediate gifts we’ll receive on three Sundays: November 2, 9, and 16. Whether you made a three-year commitment or not, this is a chance to participate in launching Tomorrow First.
Practice gratitude by writing three ways God provided for you each day. Watch abundance thinking gradually replace scarcity fear.
Our basements hold unfinished projects, but God’s kingdom advances through completed vision. Like Solomon building David’s dream, like 103 households choosing faith over fear to invest in futures we won’t fully see, we’re called to transform inherited blessings into living legacy. Whether you’re taking your first generous step or deepening a lifelong practice, the question isn’t whether we’re worthy but whether we’ll respond. When vision becomes reality through generous action, God’s presence fills what we build in ways that transform communities for generations.
Will you pray with me?
Generous God, free us from scarcity fear. Help us see money as tool, not treasure. Give us courage to invest in your purposes, creating channels where grace flows abundantly. 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 