faith & finance

Nicholas Garofalo

The Faith & Finance newsletter, read aloud — weekly reflections on money, stewardship, and the Christian life. faithandfinance.substack.com

  1. Jul 6

    Is dying with zero really good for you?

    When it comes to how we handle money, it’s pretty safe to say we could all learn a thing or two from John Wesley. He’s the co-founder of the methodist church and the passionate advocate of radical, Gospel-saturated working, saving, and giving. He famously exhorted his churchmembers to “earn all you can, save all you can, give all you can.” (You may remember I mentioned this a few months back.) But what does it look like for us to pursue earning all we can, saving all we can, and giving all we can? Let’s start with earning. To earn all we can is to become shrewd as serpents in how we handle our finances and our investments, our purchase decisions, our real estate deals, our businesses. It means taking seriously our desire to turn a profit. That instinct is a good one. We need to be profiteering, and profiteering is not sinful in itself. The desire to make a profit, to earn a living, to work and create value — these are all deeply good things. In fact, the lack of these impulses is a real problem (1 Tim 5:8). On saving, I want to be clear: the Bible praises saving in almost every instance. Saving up money means margin. It means breathing room. It means options. It means the freedom to meet the needs of others, to invest in God-honoring businesses, to leave a nest egg for your grandkids, to store up now for the future needs you or your loved ones may face. It is prudent, responsible, and wise. The only time saving is not praised is when the use behind it violates God’s natural order of the work-money connection, or when the wealth itself becomes the god who is supposed to save us. The foolish man who built bigger barns let his wealth corrupt his natural inclination to work. His wiring shifted from “I need to eat this winter, so I’d better get up and work my field today” to “I’ve got ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” His gaze turned toward self-indulgence and away from productivity and contribution. He walked away from Paul’s ethic in Ephesians 4:28 — to labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need. In many ways that cautionary tale exposes how badly we need to fight the modern notion of retirement. The idea goes like this: once you hit 55, 65, even 75, your contributions to society are essentially complete. Now you can enjoy your remaining years on the pickleball court, the beach, or the local library as you fade away into the company of your fellow septua- and octogenarians. The very notion is a disgrace. And it makes complete sense, given the world we’ve built. Our society runs on the self-defined, curated life. We worship at the altar of achievement and success. Our offerings are workaholism and the loss of personal connection. Our sacraments are a full calendar, where the honest answer to “how are you?” is a perpetual “busy.” We measure ourselves by job title and operational capacity, income level and wealth accumulation, business growth and the price tags on our status symbols. It is so pervasive that I’m not sure most of us even see how stark the contrast really is. So we fight — as if we were fighting the very powers of hell — against the current we’re swimming in. Be a salmon. Swim. For your very life. How? By giving. All we can. And then some. Every financial decision has to be weighed and measured carefully: the car, the house, the subscriptions, the bills, the gifts, the personal items. We have real power in our pocketbooks. But it is not our power, and it is not power within our control. It is a mighty magnetism. Its desire is for us, and it wants to consume us. That is why I wrote about “the snake in your bed” a few months back. We have to respect the power of the snake and its ability to overpower us. Satan uses money to ruin people all the time, and he is seldom in a hurry to do it. But that same magnetic power can pull others into the kingdom through courageous acts of generosity. How? Jesus said so in Luke 16:9. And why? Because we have first received. What do you have that you did not first receive (1 Cor 4:7)? Your giving should hinder your lifestyle creep. It should probably even outpace your income a little — enough to keep you dependent on the one from whom all provision comes. So give. Give as if your life depended on it. Perhaps it does, and perhaps that is the whole point. We love because he first loved us. We give because what do we have that we did not first receive? And when He loved, he gave — and we, too, can be like him in our giving. What we received from the Father we hand back with arms wide open, knowing that in our acts of generosity God has hidden gospel dynamite to destroy the strongholds of the enemy. So who has God put in your proximity, and how has he blessed you to be a blessing to them? Earn all you can. Save all you can. Give all you can. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    Is dying with zero really good for you?
  2. Jun 29

    the case for buying less house

    home-buying as mission work You know the feeling. You’re scrolling Zillow, you’ve set your price range, and the search results are mostly disappointing. So you do what almost everyone does: you drag the slider up a little. Not a lot. Just enough to see what opens up. It makes sense. You’re not moving to save $200 a month. You’re moving to be close to the people you love, the schools you want, the part of town that feels like home. Price is almost beside the point. Proximity is everything. I get that. But I want to pressure-test it for a minute, because the house is not like other financial decisions. For most families, it’s 20 to 40 percent of take-home pay — the single biggest lever in the entire financial/life picture. It’s where you relax. It’s usually directive of your church home, your close-proximity friendships, and, in many ways, your lifestyle. Every dollar above what you need to live well in a house that fits your family is a dollar that isn’t going somewhere else. And “somewhere else” is worth thinking hard about. running the other direction What would it look like to run the housing calculation from the other direction? Most of us start with what we want and work backward to what we can afford. What if you started with what you want to give — locked that number in first — and then figured out what house you can actually buy on what’s left? For a lot of people, that calculation produces a very different address than the one they were planning on. Paul’s uncomfortable ethic Paul has an ethic that Western evangelicalism has largely figured out how to ignore. He’s writing to early churches navigating a world of real economic stratification, and his instinct is not to maximize his standard of living up to whatever the budget allows. His instinct is to make himself smaller — it’s the uncomfortable Christian necessity of self-denial, because a conspicuous lifestyle in a community of mixed means causes envy in others. And envy, in Paul’s framework, is not a minor inconvenience. It’s idolatry. It’s a stumbling block. If my house is the thing someone drives past and resents, I have participated in something I didn’t intend to participate in. Now, I’m not saying you’re sinning if you live in a nice neighborhood. The monk-under-a-tree version of this argument isn’t the argument. But I do think we’ve gotten very good at treating “heart posture” as an escape hatch — as a way to say “it’s not about the house, it’s about where your heart is” without ever actually asking whether the house decision needs to change—or the car, clothes, accessories, vacations, etc. I heard recently that a study found simply driving a Mercedes-Benz—even a completely depreciated, $3,000 used model—signals a higher economic status to the public than driving a brand-new, $25,000 Honda Civic. Sociologists and researchers tracking consumer behavior have long noted this perception paradox: the luxury emblem carries a psychological weight that completely overrides the actual math. The badge broadcasts wealth, regardless of what you actually paid for it. And that perception paradox is exactly where the rubber meets the road for Paul’s ethic. We might look at our budget, score a great deal on a used luxury vehicle, and genuinely feel our “heart posture” is clean because we were just being financially prudent. But the community around us doesn’t see it that way. Instead, they see the badge. They see the cultural shorthand for elite status and economic supremacy. If the visual symbols we surround ourselves with broadcast an ostentatious standard of living—even if we got them on clearance—we are still actively participating in the environment of envy and division Paul warns against. Our internal intentions do not automatically neutralize the external reality of the stumbling blocks we set up. True Christian self-denial might mean choosing the Honda, not because we can’t afford the Mercedes, but because love calls us to self-denial for the sake of others. all this margin I’m often eager to talk about the heart side of money — and rightly so. But sometimes we need to get all the way down to the checkbook. Because there’s also a very practical, dollars-and-cents case for buying less house. When you buy less house, the money you didn’t spend doesn’t necessarily just disappear into spending. It can become margin. And margin is one of the most underrated assets in a financial life. Housing is the fixed cost that sets the floor for a ton of other budget line items: Property taxes.Maintenance.Renovations.HOA dues.Insurance.Furniture.Utilities.Repairs. So when you buy less house, you’re saving more than just the difference in the mortgage payment. You’re lowering all of those other peripheral costs. Maybe the comfortable payment is $3000/mo, but you’d stretch to $4000/mo — ya know, for the right house. That $1000 may sound like it’s no big deal, but it becomes real money. More importantly, it becomes real flexibility (or the lack thereof). That extra payment isn’t just money. It’s a claim on your future cash flow. It’s money that can’t go to the family vacation fund, surviving a slow season at work, or jumping to meet a last-minute need at church. There’s another gift in it too: Lifestyle creep is sticky. Once you scale up, scaling back almost always feels like loss. And the house has a sneaky way of setting the baseline for everything else — the neighbors you compare yourself to, the cars in the driveways, the renovations everyone seems to be doing, the standard of living that starts to feel “normal.” But when you buy at or below what you can comfortably afford, you make one decision that keeps making future decisions easier. You just lowered the gravity you’re fighting against. So is buying less house an exercise in self-denial? I’d argue it’s pursuing real freedom. the field What if some of your budgetary constraints are actually a kind of mercy? What if the house you can wisely afford — the one 10 or 15 minutes farther out, in the neighborhood you might normally scroll past — is not merely the house you have to settle for, but part of the field God is giving you to work? Maybe there are people there you’re supposed to know. Families you’re supposed to befriend. Needs you’re supposed to notice. And maybe the reason you’re able to notice them is because you didn’t max out every dollar getting into the nicest house you could technically afford. You left room. Room to slow down. Room to be present. Room to give. Room to invite people in. Room to say yes when saying yes actually costs something. God’s financial blessings were never meant to terminate on us. They were meant to move through us. And sometimes the smaller house is what keeps that door open. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    the case for buying less house
  3. Jun 22

    the glide path problem: the slow drift toward self-sufficiency

    If you’ve ever sat across from a financial planner, you’ve probably heard about the glide path. It looks something like this. When you’re in Phase 1 (early-career, young accumulator), we’ll invest you pretty heavily in equities — stocks, growth assets, things that can lose value in a bad year but have a long runway to recover. By the time you’re 65, you’ve likely shifted most of that into fixed income. Bonds. Stability. Capital preservation. The goal isn’t growth anymore. The goal is not losing what you’ve built. The equity-to-fixed-income ratio traces a long, slow arc downward over a lifetime. It’s rational, prudent, and what any good advisor would recommend. as our kingdoms grow Is it possible that our dependence on God follows the same curve? When you’re in your 20s and 30s, you are genuinely desperate in ways that drive you toward God. You’re fighting for direction. You don’t know if the business is going to work. You’re raising kids and watching your marriage get tested in ways you didn’t anticipate. You’re not sure where the money is coming from next month. Those are equity years in every sense — high volatility, high stakes, and a daily awareness that you are not in control of much. Then the kingdom grows. Morgan Snyder and John Eldredge write about this — the season of life where God has entrusted you with real domain: a thriving career, a stable income, a home that’s paid down, kids who are starting to find their footing. And it’s genuinely good. But a kingdom, if you’re not careful, becomes its own kind of insulation. The bubble wrap of security thickens a layer at a time, and one day you realize you haven’t prayed about money in years because you don’t have to. You know where the next meal is coming from. You know where the next ten years of meals are coming from. staying hungry I can’t find many examples in scripture where God presents a problem to someone and expects them to figure it out without seeking Him. When that happens, it tends to be a story of consequence. The stories we return to — David and the Urim and Thummim, the Israelites daily manna, the disciples in the storm-tossed boat — are all stories of people who had no choice but to be dependent, and found God faithful in that place. The fixed-income years of life can close that door one layer at a time. a faith-stretching alternative to CoastFI Let me be clear: I’m not suggesting we manufacture financial desperation. I’m not recommending that we all give away our retirement savings to stay poor enough to need God. But I’m also not willing to rule it out entirely. I know a handful of people who have lived at the edge of what makes financial sense by almost any conventional measure — giving in amounts that genuinely cost them, turning away lavish gifts of generosity to force their souls to find contentment in God, and seek provision from Him alone — and they’ve got the stories to prove it. The more practical version is simpler: what if you planned to give sacrificially throughout your entire working life, not just after you’ve secured enough to be comfortable? Most financial planning is structured around a CoastFI logic — accumulate until you hit the number, then relax and be generous with the excess. But what if you spread the generosity across the whole career? What if the windfalls that come your way aren’t primarily meant to be stacked — but to be moved? There’s a real difference between giving from surplus and giving from a place that actually costs you something. Surplus giving doesn’t require much faith — it just requires margin. The other kind keeps you dependent—hungry. Giving should hurt a little …if my fists are wrapping tightly around my treasures. Giving should hurt a little …if it’s delivering a blow to my pride and self-sufficiency. Giving should hurt a little …just like a good workout. Because that kind of “pain” produces real, lasting joy, “the joy of the Lord”—the joy that David calls “my strength”—and that is the point of giving. two parables, one question The rich fool in Luke 12 built bigger barns. He looked at what he had, looked at the future, and made what seemed to him to be a prudent decision. It just never occurred to him that the barns weren’t the point. The man in Matthew 13 found treasure in a field and sold everything he owned to buy it — in joy. He wasn’t impoverished by the transaction. He got the treasure. What would it look like to plan your financial life around increasing your need for the God who put the treasure there in the first place? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

  4. Jun 15

    What Are You Actually Buying?

    Somebody told a young sales guy early in his career: if you want to close deals, go buy the most expensive suit you can’t afford and strap on a Rolex. Walk into any room looking the part and people will assume the rest. There’s something almost right about that advice. And something completely rotten at its core. The almost-right part: we all want to look presentable, we care about quality, and we want our homes to feel warm and our cars to feel like ours. Those aren’t corrupt desires — they’re human ones. Good desires become a problem when they start doing a different job than the one they were hired for. Randy Alcorn writes that wealth is like the sun — not neutral, drawing everything toward it. Get too close and you burn; go too far and you freeze. There’s an orbit, a right relationship, where you can enjoy the good things God has given you without losing yourself to the gravitational pull. Most people don’t think about the orbit — they just drift. The real question, when I make a purchase, is what I’m actually trying to accomplish. “Is this a sin?” is too blunt an instrument. The more uncomfortable diagnostic: is this decision primarily about sustaining myself and the people I’m responsible for, or about elevating how I appear to the people around me? Those two motivations can wear the same clothes from the outside, but they don’t feel the same from the inside — sustaining doesn’t need an audience, elevating always does. The iconography problem is real. A used Mercedes is still a Mercedes. A Tesla is still a Tesla. It doesn’t matter what you paid for it — the person driving behind you in a 2012 Honda doesn’t know what you paid, and wouldn’t care if they did. What they see is the logo. And the logo communicates something whether you intend it to or not. That’s why knockoff brands exist — the whole appeal is that you can look like the thing without actually being it, which tells you something about what we’ve decided the logo is really for. If I want this car to look a certain way, I should be honest with myself about whether that matters because it genuinely matters to me, or because of who I think it makes me look like. Knowing what you’re trading before you trade it is the whole exercise. There’s a man in Matthew 13 who stumbles onto treasure buried in a field. He goes and sells everything he has — and he does it in joy. Not duty. Not guilt. Not reluctant obedience. Joy. Because he knew what he was trading up for. That’s the picture. There’s a freer, lighter, more joyful way to move through the world than one organized around what people think when they see you pull into the parking lot — and it starts with noticing what you’re actually buying when you buy something. The aim, as Paul puts it, is love from a pure heart — a harder question than “is this purchase too expensive?” but the right one. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    What Are You Actually Buying?
  5. Jun 8

    fear with better branding

    I sat across from a client couple a few years ago who was walking into a business sale. The income from the sale was significant and was causing some tax problems. Their CPA’s solutions were pretty straightforward: defer the income thru a variety of retirement-funding vehicles, delay the tax bill, let the money compound. It was a solid idea and one that many professionals would’ve seconded. But when they looked at the numbers, to my surprise, they said no. Instead, they wanted to just pay the taxes now. I’ll spare you the details, but we were talking about six-figure tax implications over multiple years. So why would they do this? They had Kingdom initiatives they wanted to fund while they still could, and they didn’t want that flexibility locked up for years waiting for a better tax-optimal moment—that might never come anyway. They may be some of the clearest-eyed people with whom I’ve ever had the privilege of working. They looked at a perfectly good financial strategy and recognized it for what it also was: a sophisticated way to postpone obeying what God had put on their hearts to do. That is what I mean by fear with better branding. The hard part is that fear and wisdom can look identical on paper. Most financial planning is genuinely useful. I want to say that before anything else, because what follows is not an argument against planning carefully. It is an argument for telling ourselves the truth about why we sometimes plan the way we do. Because a lot of the tools we use — trusts, diversified investing, tax planning — can become clean, respectable ways to manage fear. And when you get honest, the fear usually sounds like this: * I’m scared I’m going to run out. * I’m scared one bad season will erase years of work. * I’m scared that if I obey God with money now, He won’t come through. * I’m scared I’m not even hearing Him clearly. Nobody says it like that, of course. We call it being a good steward—and we truly want to be. Oftentimes we are. But what if sometimes we are just scared, and the financial plan is the distraction? And financial services is where this can get especially elaborate. You can build layers of strategy that reduce uncertainty, lock in outcomes, and keep everything “safe.” Some of that is genuinely necessary. But the danger is you can end up with a technically excellent plan and a posture that requires almost no faith at all. Let me say that again: You can have a technically excellent financial plan and a functionally godless posture toward your money. Think about Joseph in the Genesis story. Seven years of plenty, seven years of famine. He stored up grain in the good years. He planned. He built the systems. And when the famine came, the grain was not a hedge against God — it was the means God used to feed nations. Joseph wasn’t agnosticizing his future or mitigating his future need for God’s provision. Quite the contrary. His preparations were the means by which God’s provisions were channeled through a nation to a hungry world. That is the line. Preparation is seldom the problem. Preparation disguised as self-protection leveraged to reduce our dependence on God, is the problem — and it’s the problem Jesus illustrated in the parable of the rich fool (see Luke 12). The clients who paid more in taxes earlier than advised were not being reckless. They had plenty. Their retirement was not at risk. Their family was not going to suffer. They simply looked at a strategy that would have deferred flexibility for many years, decided that was not in alignment with the Kingdom work God had put before them, and they felt to choose that path would be disobedient. So they chose obedience over optimization, over maximization, and over fear with better branding. If I ever face that choice, I hope I have the courage to do the same. What about you? Is there an area of your financial life you’ve sensed clear direction from God but have held off? Why? What’s one step you can take today toward obedience and away from fear? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    fear with better branding
  6. Jun 1

    “enough” and all its implications

    Do you need more money? Honestly. Sit with question for a minute. Do you think you need more money? Would more money be helpful in fulfilling God’s calling on your life right now? Would more money be catalytic to making you more like Jesus? Would it enhance your prayer life? Or your relationships with others? (Spoiler alert: You don’t need more money.) You’ve probably heard the famous Rockefeller response to the question, “how much is enough?” Just one more dollar. Oof. That’s rough, John. Talk about a hamster wheel. Not me! No siree. I’ve found contentment in Jesus and never struggle with loving money. …right? Contrary to what you might expect, this is not a math problem. It’s a lack-of-clarity (i.e. fog) problem. If you don’t know what “enough” is, every dollar becomes a question: “do I need you? should I keep you? or can I deploy you to someone else?” fog is expensive Last week, we talked about the questions under the question and how most money questions are really questions of the heart disguised as questions of the mind. This is the first place that fog shows up in real life: an undefined finish line. If you’ve never taken the time to define “enough”: * Every expense feels stressful * Every market dip throws your future into uncertainty * Every generous impulse runs through a panic filter * Your spouse’s “can we afford this?” feels more like an accusation than a question. It’s like flying through clouds without instruments. At least you know you’re still in the air, but for how much longer? You feel unsafe. What “enough” is, and isn’t Let me be clear, because this gets misunderstood in both directions. “Enough” is not: * A guarantee that life won’t get hard. * A magic number that removes the need for daily trust in God. * A retirement fantasy copied from a Fidelity commercial. * Set in stone, never to be reevaluated. “Enough” is: * A reference point that makes small decisions easier. * A tool for honesty between you and your spouse. * A starting place, not necessarily a finish line. * A working definition of what your family actually needs, plus what you’d love to be free to do. In a word, enough is choosing contentment. contentment …and discontentment Speaking of which, let’s talk about that for a minute. “Be content” is often a scold that’s really just demanding desire-management or hunger-mitigation. Want less, ask less, expect less. But contentment isn’t passivity. Or resignation. Or the compression or elimination of desire. In fact, it’s not necessarily holy — or holier than discontentment. It just depends on where your longings reside and where they lead you. There’s a kind of holy desire that saturates the Psalms. And that desire sits deeply rooted in God’s abundant plenty. And that’s the secret sauce—the ability to sit with what God has given right now without scrambling to control tomorrow. Content with what you have, but discontent this side of heaven. That discontentment is desire. Longing. Ache. It’s yearning that’s ultimately aimed at the Kingdom to come: for your kids, your church, your work, your future, your legacy. It’s what makes you earn and save and give — and dream, for that matter. Defining “enough” is where—in the context of your financial life—these two finally stop fighting. You name what’s actually needed for a reasonable lifestyle. You name what you’d love to be capable of (in work, philanthropy, legacy, etc.). And you stop treating every desire as suspicious or every limit as a threat. Simultaneously, you start to flex your “no” muscle as an active defiance against the culture of Vanity Fair in which we all live. A small next step If this is hitting close, you don’t need to overhaul anything this week. Try this: Sit down with your spouse (or by yourself, if you’re single) and answer three questions in pencil: * What does our household actually need each year to be okay? * What would “good” look like: generosity, margin, real rest? * What’s one number we’re currently guessing about that we could actually define this month? That’s it. Just tugging on one string at a time. Next week We’ve named the fear. We’ve started clearing the fog. Next week, we go underneath both: trust, control, and what generosity actually has to do with your view of God. Because once “enough” is on the table, the next question shows up almost immediately. If we have enough, what’s it for? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    “enough” and all its implications
  7. May 25

    the question under the question

    I’ve heard it said that the “real” answer to any question is buried only 3 layers deep. You have to ask the question, then ask the question beneath that, and then go one level deeper — then you arrive at the true answer. As an advisor, I’ve learned from many of the greats that the answer a client is seeking often lies somewhere between me asking a better question and them surfacing a deeper answer. And these answers are never black or white, right or wrong, smart or foolish. In practice this means that “simple, everyday questions” like: “My tax bill was really high last year - can it be lowered?” “Should I max my retirement accounts?” ”How much can we afford to give to this ministry we really care about?” ”Are we saving enough for our kids college? How much should we even save?” Each have miles of context beneath them, influencing the answer we hope to get, the plan we might’ve already committed to (regardless of the advice), and the baked in assumptions we brought into the conversation. These easily-google-able questions are anything but simple. Tax strategies are packed with trade-offs, compliance requirements, and implications for future-you. Same for your retirement accounts. And that question about giving first requires you to define “enough” which means taking an honest look at your needs, wants, goals, and surplus cash flow (if there is any). They weave into marriage roles, career decisions, core beliefs, emotions, family of origin, religious convictions — and I’m just getting started! It’s easy to see how a client could get lost in complexity and give up before ever arriving at a decision. A common term for this is “analysis paralysis” (and I can tell you from experience — this is a terrible place to be!) Here’s a simple framework to help you navigate from the question you’re asking to the deeper tensions holding you in indecision: * Start here: The Tactical Ask: “What should I do?” This is the pain point that usually triggers the google search, the text to your friend, colleague, or professional. * The Emotional Drivers: “What am I afraid will happen if I don’t do this? … What will I regret if I do?” Emotions are so important. They’re windows into our souls and tell us a lot about our internal world. God cares about that world and wants to meet us in it. Emotions should never drive the bus or fly the plane, but we ignore or underestimate them at our own peril. * The Foggy Gap: “Where does my analysis fizzle due to lack of information or clarity? Are there actual learning gaps here?” Oftentimes, complex situations have multiple moving inputs and myriad variable outputs. They’re not sequential, binary, or simple. And evaluating the trade-offs does require a lot of information. Finding the gaps can be helpful for your analysis. * The Faith Question: “What am I believing about God’s provision—and what am I trying to control?” You can certainly start here, but I strongly advise that you also end here. Once you’ve done your best to love the Lord your God with all your mind — distilling the questions, motives, emotions, and information you need — surrender it to Jesus and ask what He thinks. Let me walk through a (hypothetical) example. Say I’m talking with someone like Aaron. He’s been thinking about Biblically Responsible Investing after hearing his pastor mention something a while back. Aaron feels tension knowing his portfolio doesn’t match his convictions, but he didn’t know there was a better way. As a Christian, I know it’s wrong to profit from things that grieve and hurt the heart of God… but let’s face it, you can’t just invest in companies you go to Sunday school with. I’m also hearing these funds can underperform, and they cost more. So… is it better to just invest like the world and then use the money for Kingdom growth? That’s not a dumb question. And it’s thoughtfully approached by many faithful Christians. So when I hear something like that, here’s how I try to walk through it with him: Step 1: The Tactical Ask On the surface, Aaron’s asking about investment strategy because his current plan feels out of alignment with his faith. But he’s concerned about fees, performance, etc. Also his current advisor might not offer this investment approach. Step 2: The Emotional Drivers Underneath that, there’s grief. There’s also uncertainty. He wants to be faithful, but he’s not totally sure what “in alignment” actually means in the real world. And he’s afraid of making a sincere choice that costs his family later: higher fees, potential underperformance, maybe working extra years because retirement gets pushed out. Step 3: The Foggy Gap (where your “enough line” is missing) For Aaron, “biblical investing” sounds good, but it’s hard for him to define. And without clarity on “enough,” it’s tough to know what he really needs for retirement anyway—what he’s on-track for and what kind of trade-offs he can actually afford to make. When the finish line is fuzzy, most everything else is too. It’s like you’re on a lifelong journey to a destination you haven’t totally mapped out yet. You never quite know if you’re on-track to get there — or even where “there” is. This lack of clarity turns everyday financial questions into foggy indecision that leads to frustration and lack of execution. Step 4: The Faith Question And then we end up where these conversations usually lead: if he’s convinced there has to be a way to reconcile this tension, what is he really believing about God’s provision? And where is he trying to buy certainty or control with the “right” strategy? Underneath it all, he’s not just afraid of underperformance. He’s afraid he’ll choose faithfulness and accidentally hurt his family. He’s afraid he doesn’t have enough margin to “get this wrong.” Aaron’s not alone. Maybe you’re Aaron. And maybe, like him, you just needed permission to slow down long enough to ask yourself those 2-3 “deeper questions”—so you can make decisions with clarity, conviction, and open hands. And this is why I keep coming back to the “enough line.” When you don’t know what “enough” is for your family, every decision feels like it could be the one that breaks you. So you grab for certainty: the perfect strategy, the perfect fund lineup, the perfect tax move. But when you can draw a sober, realistic enough line in real numbers, something changes. You can finally see what’s required… and what’s available. And that’s where conviction stops being a weight and starts becoming a path. So here’s the real question: Do you actually need “the best” strategy… or do you just need an “enough” line you can trust? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    the question under the question
  8. May 18

    are we making money too important?

    A few weeks ago I wrote about a man who slept with his pet snake. (You can view the archives here). The metaphor comes from a fellow financial advisor, and his application was for investment accounts specifically. But I’ve started wondering where else we may find “the snake” at work in our lives and where we may be ignoring its power. When stewardship tools make money bigger Here’s what I mean. The stewardship conversation in Christian financial planning is genuinely good. Finish lines & lifestyle caps, giving percentages, kingdom investing — these are tools built to relativize money, to put it in its proper place as an instrument rather than an end. The intent is to harness the snake’s power by redirecting its energy toward something good and wholesome. And it works. Partially. But when money becomes the primary category through which we discuss faithfulness — when the central question of the Christian life becomes “what are you doing with your resources?” — we have made money very large and very important, even while arguing that it need not be. The cure has contracted the disease. The snake is still in the house, just maybe not in the bed. Randy Alcorn, speaking to a room of Christian financial advisors, put a warning into his notes that I keep returning to: “be careful what you promise or imply. Do real good when you help people plan responsibly. But don’t imply that money can make people safe, significant, or whole.” It can’t. And the moment we let it carry that weight — even in the direction of generosity — we’ve handed it more power than it deserves. Have I “made peace” with something that’s actually dangerous to my soul? Do I ever self-justify by good works: love for God & others, obedience to Scripture, money management, or something else? The drift: money expands in every direction The problem of loving money isn’t solved by managing it — or fixating on our management of it. The problem is that money, in almost any direction you point it, tends to expand into whatever space you give it. Point it toward accumulation and it becomes a security blanket. Point it toward generosity and it can become a metric of holiness. Point it toward kingdom work and it can start to feel like the primary mechanism through which God moves. None of these are the intention, but they’re all the inevitable drift. Paul warned Timothy that the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil — not money itself, but the disordered desire for it. The drift doesn’t require greed. It just requires giving money a seat at the head of the table and letting it run the conversation. The good-hearted Christian is not immune to this. The tools of stewardship — finish lines, giving percentages, etc. — are disciplines, not a measure of the soul. The moment these become our scoreboard — a way to feel righteous, or guilty, or a mountaintop of Christian achievement we’ve finally summited — the snake may still be growing, just in a room you built to contain it. Warm-handed generosity: you are more than your money We are more than our money. Not as a consolation prize for those who don’t have much of it — but as a theological statement about what a human being actually is. You are skills, presence, prayer, creativity, covenant, relationship. You are the person who shows up at the hospital. Who makes the phone call nobody else wanted to make. Who teaches the thing only you know how to teach. Who is present in ways that cannot be denominated in dollars. Alcorn talked about warm-handed generosity — giving while you’re alive and present, with choice, in relationship, rather than cold-handed leaving in a will. The warmth is the point. The relationship is the point. The presence of an actual person behind the gift is what makes generosity generosity rather than philanthropy. Money is one instrument in that. Not the orchestra. Who have I been tempted to “help” with money when what they actually needed was presence? The real question: what are you trusting money to do? So the question underneath the finish line conversation isn’t really about the number. It’s about what you’re trusting the number to do. If you’re trusting it to quiet the anxiety, settle your conscience before God, or make you feel like you’re finally doing enough — the snake may still be in the bed. And it has been growing while you fed it. Augustine’s holy desire runs deeper than any of this. It is the orientation of a person who has looked at money honestly — respected its power, refused to inflate its importance — and then picked up their whole life and walked toward the kingdom. Money is part of that walk. A small part. What am I hoping “enough money” will finally fix in me? If I asked Jesus to define faithfulness, how would His definition look different from mine? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    are we making money too important?

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The Faith & Finance newsletter, read aloud — weekly reflections on money, stewardship, and the Christian life. faithandfinance.substack.com